


Concrete Idol

by Anonymous_Introvert78



Series: GOT7 Hurt/Comfort [2]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Amnesia, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Gen, Here we go, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Kidnapping, LET'S GET IT, Memory Loss, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Panic Attacks, Park Jinyoung (GOT7)-Centric, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Dongsaengs, Protective Hyungs, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:02:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 30,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25165897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Introvert78/pseuds/Anonymous_Introvert78
Summary: *************"I deserve to know what happened to me!"*************
Relationships: Choi Youngjae/Park Jinyoung, Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung, Kim Yugyeom/Park Jinyoung, Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam/Park Jinyoung, Park Jinyoung (GOT7)/Everyone, Park Jinyoung/Jackson Wang, Park Jinyoung/Mark Tuan
Series: GOT7 Hurt/Comfort [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1446802
Comments: 266
Kudos: 444





	1. Park Jinyoung

**Author's Note:**

> So ... Hi.
> 
> I'm back. It's been a while. I know. I'm sorry. I was feeling kind of overwhelmed and had to take a break for a little bit but I have returned with the angst!

I'm writing a seven-part series! One story for each member! I'm sorry I've been gone for so long but I actually had an issue with this story in that I managed to trigger myself while writing it. I find it absolutely hilarious that that's even possible but apparently it is so I took some time to figure things out and, unfortunately, I had to splice the end of the story off but, hopefully, the new ending is good enough.

**TRIGGER WARNING!!!!**

Needless to say, this fic contains potentially triggering content such as non-consensual drug use, sexual assault, post-traumatic stress disorder, panic attacks and victim blaming. None of the depictions are explicit or detailed in the slightest but this entire story does revolve around some very adult themes so please - _please_ \- consider carefully whether or not you want to continue reading.

By clicking on the next chapter, you are acknowledging that I have provided the appropriate warnings and therefore I am not responsible for any distress this story may bring you. Please do not come after me in the comments by saying you were triggered because 1) that messes with my head and 2) it's not my fault. Please be safe. Thank you.

**There will be no major character death in this series.**


	2. The Heaviness

Heaviness.

That was the only word Jinyoung could really use to describe the sensation that encased his every pore in its leaden hold. Heavy. He was so heavy. His arms, his legs, his head, even his eyelids were weighed down and he felt like somebody was hammering nails into his skull from the inside.

Heaviness encompassed him. It owned him. He belonged in its captivity.

“…in…ng…an…he…me?”

Something was sitting on his chest. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. His ribs were groaning from the pressure, slowly caving in and splintering his bones beneath his skin. Every part of his body was plagued with a dull ache that persisted and thrived until he couldn’t take it any longer.

He tried to call out to someone – Jaebeom or Youngjae or Mark – to come and help him. To remove the weight from his chest and sit him up in his bed so he could glug a glass of water to wet his parched throat.

But his lips wouldn’t move. They were heavy as well, two gigantic frankfurters layered on top of each other, sealing his mouth shut, and all he could produce was a low moan of discomfort.

“e’s…ake…get…elp…now!”

He tried to move his head, let it roll around on the pillow until he found some way of forcing his eyes open, but his neck was stiff. Crazy stiff. So stiff that just the slightest of twitches sent electric shocks ricocheting up his spine.

There was a beeping noise. He heard it for the first time, as though buds of cotton wool had been plugging his ears and somebody had just pulled them out. And people were talking, their voices loud and intrusive inside his head.

Something closed around his hand. Lots of somethings. Thin and quivering. Fingers. Someone was holding his hand which he supposed was good because he was starting to wonder if he still had any hands seeing as he couldn’t seem to move them.

“Hyung?”

That was the first word that struck him with perfect clarity and he knew he recognised the owner but he couldn’t for the life of him put a name to the voice or, in turn, a face to the name. It was like somebody had delved into his memories and wiped his slate blank, erasing every trace of the life he used to lead.

But his name was Jinyoung. That much he was sure of. And he was in pain.

“Jinyoung? Jinyoung, take your time. It’s okay.”

Why wouldn’t they leave him alone to sleep? Everything hurt, everything was loud and annoying and he just wanted to roll over in his bed and drift back into the realm of unconsciousness where pain no longer existed.

Except this didn’t feel like his bed. The blankets were too tight, strapping him to the mattress in the way they were tucked in with unnecessary firmness. There was only one pillow. He usually slept with two. And it smelled wrong.

It smelled like the cleaning supplies they kept beneath the kitchen sink. Disinfectant. Was somebody scrubbing his room? Why? His room was tidy. He’d always tried to keep it that way.

“There’s no rush, Jinyoung. We’re right here. You can open your eyes whenever you’re ready.”

The last puzzle piece fell into place when he registered the outline of something plastic pressing a circle into his face, encompassing his nose and his mouth and emitting a fresh puff of air with every breath that he took.

He tried to move his hand, squeeze those fingers in a call for help, and he felt the tape plastered to the back of his wrist, securing something itchy and hard against his skin. 

The word 'hospital' rang loud and clear in his head, finally giving him the motivation he needed to pry his eyelids apart.

Everything was cloudy. There were multiple shapes swimming across his vision but each one seemed to stretch on forever as their edges were blurred to the point where colours melded into one another and nothing was detachable from whatever was beside it.

But then his vision started to clear, slowly at first and then all at once, and his bewildered mind managed to identify the owners of the faces that were peering down at him with their brows furrowed and their eyes swollen.

“Hi,” Mark whispered, reaching up to swipe at his cheek which appeared to be dripping with moisture. “You’re here. That’s really good, Jinyoung.”

“I missed you,” the face on the other side of him suddenly blurted out.

Youngjae. He seemed to be crying, too, and he wasn’t hiding it nearly as well as Mark was. Jinyoung wanted to reach up and wipe the tears from both of them but his arms were only just starting to regain feeling, a gentle tingling sensation spiking from his fingertips up to his elbows.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered what was happening. Why was he in a hospital? Why were these two crying and saying they’d missed him? Why did everything hurt so bad? Why couldn’t he remember a single thing that had led him up to this moment?

It was too much. He was scared, confused, desperately needing answers but too weak to ask the questions. He wanted to retreat back into the darkness where the world couldn’t hurt him like it was hurting him now.

His eyelashes started to flutter against his cheeks and Youngjae gave a choked cry from his left, the grip on his hand tightening until his fingers went numb, but it was too late. He was slipping and sliding further and further down.

And then he was gone.

***********************

Life was a lot clearer the second time he awoke.

The heaviness had subsided somewhat, as had the pain, but the fogginess was still there, clouding his mind and preventing him from procuring even the slightest idea of why he was in this bed in this hospital with an oxygen mask over his face.

It was night time. He could tell from the way the lights were out and there was no sunlight reaching through the blinds. His head lolled to the side, his neck still stiff but at least a little more mobile, and he took in the sight around him.

Mark was in the chair beside the bed, his fingers wrapped around Jinyoung’s hand like a vice and his chin resting on his chest, eyes closed in a fitful slumber. Youngjae was on his other side, arms folded on the mattress and head sitting atop them, back slowly rising and falling as he slept.

The maknaes were on the sofa by the wall, Yugyeom’s head in Bambam’s lap and both of them dead to the world, lost in unconsciousness as they awaited their hyung’s resurrection from whatever had happened to have landed him in this bed. 

Jinyoung reached up with the hand Mark wasn’t clutching and slowly tugged the oxygen mask from his face, despising the claustrophobic sensation it elicited, abandoning it on the covers beside him.

His eldest friend stirred, breathing in through his nose as he slowly raised his head, eyes scrunching in an attempt to adjust to the cramp that must have been twisting the muscles in his back from his uncomfortable posture.

“Hyung?”

Jinyoung was horrified at the sound of his own voice. It was scratchy and raw and it felt like a billion needles were piercing his throat as his vocal cords tried to work themselves around that single syllable, but it had the desired effect.

“Jinyoung,” Mark gasped out as he finally processed his younger brother’s open eyes, and shuffled forwards in his seat so they could whisper without waking the others. “How do you feel? Does anything hurt?”

Yes, was the answer. Everything hurt. Not as badly as it had done when he’d first awoken but still bad enough to keep him from relaxing back against his pillows. Except that wasn’t the first thing on his mind.

“Wha’ happene’?”

A tear slid down Mark’s cheek but he swatted it away as ferociously as he would a bee and Jinyoung was struck with the notion that something awful must have occurred for his hyung to be so upset.

“What do you remember?”

Jinyoung’s face twisted itself into an expression of pained confusion. He couldn’t describe how empty he felt. He knew his name, he knew where he was and who was with him but he had absolutely no idea what chain of events had brought him here.

It was a terrifying prospect: not knowing what had happened to him or what he’d done.

“Nothin’.”

“That’s okay,” Mark soothed, rubbing his finger back and forth over Jinyoung’s hand. “Don’t worry about it. You’re okay.”

Frustration was bubbling up inside of him. He didn’t care for meaningless reassurances. He wanted to know why he was here and why he’d needed an oxygen mask and why he’d been unconscious.

“What … happened,” he forced out, trying to enunciate every syllable with perfect clarity so Mark would have no choice but to answer his burning question.

The eldest looked conflicted. More tears dribbled from his eyelashes only to be staunched by a trembling hand. Mark was so obviously traumatised by something – some kind of fear – and he clearly didn’t know whether or not to tell Jinyoung why.

“Do you remember the bar?” he finally supplied, and Jinyoung shook his head ever so slightly. “Well, you, me and Jaebeom went to a bar a few nights ago and we drank … a little bit too much.”

Jinyoung couldn’t help the frown that twisted his facial features. Sure, he and the others went to bars all the time. It was their only way of letting go when the stress at work felt like it was becoming too much for their mental health to function properly.

But they never drank more than a couple of beers. They didn’t let themselves. Or each other. It was dangerous. They never took bodyguards because they needed their independence and so getting hammered was a sure-fire way of tumbling into a trap they couldn’t escape from.

If their pictures were taken, if a fan caught them, it would be disastrous. The media would attack them with everything they had, they would lose their reputation and ultimately their jobs. So Mark telling him they’d overdone it with the alcohol was more than a little difficult to believe.

“You … passed out in the road, Jinyoung,” his hyung continued, voice trembling even more with every word. “You hit your head and … it was really bad. We were really worried.”

His shoulders sagged slightly and he averted his eyes from the bed, taking a deep breath before looking back and forcing a smile to curl itself onto his face. But it was plastic and fake and even in his state of drugged-up confusion, Jinyoung could tell it wasn’t real.

“But you’re okay now. You’re going to be fine and you’re going to get better and we’re going to take really good care of you, okay?”

Jinyoung didn’t answer because he didn’t believe it. He didn’t believe a word he’d just heard and he couldn’t figure out why Mark would lie to him, but as his eyes travelled once more around the room, another question surfaced in his mind.

“Where’s Jaebeom?”

He blinked. His eyelids felt heavy and so he blinked and that was the reason he missed the flash of devastated despair that crossed Mark’s face. It couldn’t have been there for more than half a second because when Jinyoung looked back, his hyung was smiling again.

“He got a little too drunk as well,” he filled in, robotically. “He’s at home sleeping it off but he’ll come see you tomorrow. You should go back to sleep, Jinyoung. You’re on some really heavy painkillers.”

As if on command, Jinyoung felt his eyes sliding closed and the darkness creeping in and no matter how desperately he tried to stay awake – tried to ask more questions – he couldn’t fight the talons of fatigue that sank themselves into his burning skin.

His last thought rang on a loop inside his head even as he slept: Why would Mark lie to him?


	3. The Handprints

Jinyoung didn’t think walking was going to be such a chore, much less standing, but when they disconnected his IV the next day and permitted him to waddle clumsily over to the bathroom, he was absolutely exhausted after only a few steps.

His limbs felt uncoordinated and alien, almost like they weren’t completely his own, and his vision still blurred every time he stood up too quickly or turned around too fast but even if he was succumbing to the concussion Mark told him he had, he could feel his condition improving.

That was until he stood in front of the bathroom mirror and got the first glimpse of himself since he’d woken up the previous night.

“Fuck …”

There were great purple shopping bags hanging beneath his eyes, casting lilac shadows on his greyish cheeks. His lip was cut at the corner, a bloodied slice trying to crust into a scab, and as he raised his hand to touch it, he spotted the bruises.

They encircled his wrists, blobs of blue and purple and green and brown imprinted into his skin like a discoloured rainbow of masked bleeding. And they were shaped funny. Like, some of them in strips and some of them in spots.

Like … Like handprints.

A concussion, Mark had said. What kind of concussion left handprints on a person’s wrists like they’d been grabbed as tightly as humanly possible? Why couldn’t he remember anything? He had to remember.

“Jinyoung? You in there?” came the soft voice through the door, accompanied with a gentle knock, and Jinyoung forced himself to pull his sight from that ghostly figure in the mirror.

“Yeah. Just give me a second,” he grit out, his voice still sounding constricted. He certainly wouldn’t be singing again anytime soon.

He turned on the cold tap and thrust his hands beneath the icy faucet, interlocking his fingers and squeezing the soap into his skin. He even rubbed at his wrists, some sliver of his mind hoping that the bruises would disappear with just a few bubbles. Of course, they didn’t.

The first thing he saw when he pushed the bathroom door open was Jaebeom sitting on the very edge of the chair beside the empty bed, his hands pressed between his knees and his back straight, muscles tense. He looked exceedingly anxious, eye movements slightly erratic and when Jinyoung cleared his throat, his leader actually flinched.

“Hey, come here.”

Jackson appeared from nowhere, his hand looping around Jinyoung’s elbow and giving a gentle tug towards the bed, but Jinyoung resisted, staring at his friend with wide eyes and confusion etched in every feature of his pasty face.

“What are you doing here?” he croaked. “You’re supposed to be promoting in China.”

“I got bored,” Jackson rebuffed nonchalantly, finally succeeding in guiding Jinyoung back to bed. “Plus, Mark-hyung called and said you’d duffed yourself up a bit and that I needed to fly back to help wait on your every need.”

There were so many questions rolling around Jinyoung’s mind. Why did they call Jackson when all he had was a bump on the head? Why was Jaebeom’s smile stretched so thin that it looked like he was about to tear his face in two? Why was he bruised? Was the concussion the real reason why he couldn’t remember anything?

But his lips wouldn’t cooperate with the words he wanted to form so he merely flopped back against his pillows and allowed Jackson to pull the blankets back over his body.

He glanced over at Jaebeom, expecting his best friend to reach out and take his hand or at least do something other than sit there and look like it was the very last place he wanted to be, but that seemed to be the only thing he was capable of doing.

“Are you okay?” Jinyoung rasped, furrowing his brows in Jaebeom’s direction when his leader’s eyes widened a millimetre or two in panic before he schooled his expression back to neutral.

“I’m fine.”

His voice sounded just as raw as Jinyoung’s. Maybe even rawer. He must have drunk a shit tonne of alcohol to somehow acquire the same tone as Golem from “Lord of the Rings”, and his eyes projected his lie like a neon beacon.

He was not fine, and Jinyoung’s suspicions were only increasing with every niche in the shields his friends were putting up around themselves. He briefly wondered whether they were trying to keep something from getting out or trying to keep him from getting in.

********************

“Do you need help?” Yugyeom asked as he opened the car door, reaching out his hand in case Jinyoung needed assistance clambering from the leather seats. “I don’t want you faceplanting right after the hospital let you go.”

Jinyoung forced a smile and decided to humour his maknae by taking hold of the fingers offered to him, allowing the younger boy to take the majority of his weight as he made a very ungraceful dismount from the black SUV.

“Put your arm around me,” Yugyeom instructed and Jinyoung sucked a frustrated breath in through his teeth before he gave in and followed the order. “Sorry, hyung, I know it’s embarrassing.”

They continued up the driveway path in silence, save for Jinyoung’s occasional grunt of discomfort as his unsteady legs were forced to wobble about on the uneven stones, but he was thankful that his little brother seemed to understand his discomfort.

It was just as they reached the front door and Yugyeom offloaded his hyung to lean against the brickwork while he fumbled for the keys that Jinyoung happened to glance across the street and see the face he had no idea would be haunting his nightmares for months to come.

A man was standing stock still on the other side of the road, toes touching the very edge of the sidewalk, feet shoulder-width apart, hands in his pockets and jaw set. And it was blindingly obvious that he was staring right at them.

Jinyoung couldn’t quite see his face. He was wearing a mask that covered the lower portion of his features and a plain black beanie hat pulled down over his brows, but even from twenty feet away, he could feel the prickle that man’s eyes sent shivering up and down his spine.

“Yugyeom?” he muttered, reaching out to snag Yugyeom’s sleeve without taking his eyes off the sinister figure glaring back at him. “Yugyeom …”

But before he could get another word out, the man was climbing into a car. Black, tinted windows, typical. There was a sputter of the exhaust pipe and then the vehicle was screeching off down the tarmac with an unnecessary roar of an overly expensive engine.

“Yeah?”

Yugyeom’s voice ripped Jinyoung from his trance and his head snapped to the side, catching his dongsaeng’s worried eye before he glanced back to the road.

“Hyung? Are you okay? Do you feel dizzy?”

“No,” Jinyoung whispered, more to himself than anything else. “It’s nothing, Gyeom. Don’t worry.”

It was probably a reporter. But he didn’t have a camera. Maybe it was a fan. But they rarely seemed to attract the interest of six-foot-tall mountains of muscle. Or he was being ridiculously paranoid and it just happened to be a man glancing across the street.

That’s what it was.

That’s all it could be.

Yugyeom’s hand closed around his upper arm and he stumbled obediently over the threshold, plopping down on the living room sofa and allowing his maknae to drape a blanket over him as he lay back against the cushions.

“The hyungs will be home soon,” the youngest was babbling as he busied himself with meaningless tasks around the room. “They were just wrapping some stuff up at the studio.”

Jinyoung nodded but he wasn’t really listening. His head was filled with bubbles of cotton wool confusion. There were bruises on his wrists. His memory had been bleached and scrubbed until there was nothing left. And now there were strange men staring at him from across the road.

“Yugyeom,” he suddenly choked, cutting Yugyeom off mid-sentence. “Why can’t I remember anything?”

He scrutinised the younger boy’s face. He watched carefully for any kind of twitch or flicker but there was nothing. Apparently Yugyeom was a lot better at controlling his facial features than Mark or Jaebeom.

“It’s just the concussion, hyung,” he responded almost immediately with a smile. “You hit your head really hard so you’re bound to …”

“Then why don’t I have a wound on my head?”

That seemed to throw Yugyeom off balance, but only for a split second.

“It was a blunt trauma,” he loaded off mechanically. Had he been briefed on what to say? “There wasn’t anything sharp enough to break the skin. Are you thirsty? I’ll get you a drink.”

He left the room before Jinyoung could procure an appropriate response or any further questions, clearly trying to distance himself from the interrogation before he let something slip that he shouldn’t say.

And now Jinyoung was certain: they were hiding something from him. Something that had happened  _ to him.  _ He deserved to know what it was. He deserved to know what had landed him in that hospital bed.

He would find out.

He would.


	4. The Shower

_“So beautiful.”_

_ “Such a score.” _

_ “You’re going to be a star.” _

_ Faces looming from the shadows. _

_ “Just stay there now, that’s right.” _

_ “Everyone’s going to be so jealous.” _

_ “Maybe I should keep you.” _

_ Eyes. Piercing. Evil. _

_ Pain. Shooting. Spiralling. _

_ Can’t move. Can’t feel. Can’t breathe. _

_ “That’s right, baby. Just let it happen.” _

_ Weight. Heavy. Pressing down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and … _

__

Jinyoung opened his eyes. It wasn’t a particularly dramatic awakening. He didn’t shoot up into a sitting position with an overly exaggerated gasp of shock, clutching at his shirt like it held the nutrients he needed for survival.

He just opened his eyes and the nightmare ended.

The bedsheets were drenched in sweat, tangled around his legs in some kind of cotton mermaid’s tail and the mattress was damp against his back, his pyjamas clinging to his body. He felt disgusting. Unimaginably disgusting.

The recollections of the dream were starting to drain like water through cupped hands. The harder he tried to grasp onto them – to find out what they meant or why they were in his head – the quicker they trickled out of his grasp until all he could remember was a gruff voice and a faceless figure.

He felt sick. His stomach was curdling and he could smell the body odour reeking from his clothes. Glancing at the bedside clock, he read the time as 4am. If he had a shower right now then he would be bound to wake one of the others but he didn’t really care.

He had to wash. He had to … He just had to. And he couldn’t figure out why exactly. Sure, he stank and he’d been too tired to bathe before he went to bed but there was something else. Some other reason that he had to scrub his body until his skin was raw and peeling off.

The bathroom lights were irritatingly bright but he braved the assault on his optic nerves and reached into the shower to turn the dial, watching as the metal disc overhead spouted a steady surge of water into the porcelain closet.

He stripped of his sweat-sodden clothes and leapt straight underneath the faucet, relishing in the feeling of warm water massaging his cramping muscles. His head was both trying to rid itself of the residual nightmare slivers and cling onto them for information, and he felt an impulsive shiver wracking his body.

That face … He couldn’t remember a single detail – not one feature – but just the mask of a head shrouded in shadow was enough to have his skin crawling and his hands immediately leaping to grab the soap, working the suds into his body.

He felt dirty. And he didn’t know why.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he hissed at himself, his words drowned out by the sound of the water pounding against the shower floor. “You’re fine. Pull yourself together.”

He opened his eyes and glanced down to reach for the bodywash. And that was when he saw it.

His wrists weren’t the only part of him that were printed with varying shades of purple and black. His thighs were splattered with bruises, painting a blotchy picture from his knees all the way up to his hips.

The others hadn’t been telling the truth at all. There was no way simply passing out in the road would lead to marks like that. They were shaped like fingerprints. Someone had grabbed him in a place they shouldn’t have grabbed without his permission.

Had one of the others tried to hold him down? Had he been so drunk that he hadn’t even recognised them? Had his concussion fuelled some kind of misplaced fury that had caused him to need restraining?

Unable to look at the discoloured splodges any longer, he shut off the water and climbed out of the shower, seizing a towel and wrapping it around his waist to hide the abomination that lay beneath. The sight of it made him want to vomit.

Maybe … Maybe it was better not to know what had caused those indigo blossoms to bloom on his skin. Maybe he was safer kept in the dark, away from the truth. Away from the pain.

Protected. Ignorant to the world he knew was waiting for him out there.

Maybe it was better this way. Or maybe he needed to know.

*****************

Jinyoung didn’t know why but he had sort of expected Jaebeom to be sitting at the kitchen table when he descended the stairs the next morning, clutching a mug of coffee in both hands and staring off into space with a glaze over his eyes.

That face was still imprinted into the back of Jinyoung’s eyelids, burning into his skull every time he blinked, and the fact that he couldn’t actually picture any physical features – just a shadowy shape – made it even more terrifying.

“Jaebeom?” he rasped out, frowning when he saw his leader flinch ever so slightly before turning to look at him. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” A lie. “Are you? Does anything hurt? Do you need some painkillers?”

Jinyoung shook his head, sidling over to the table and sliding into the chair opposite his friend, raking his hands through his hair and sighing deep and long. He was so unbelievably tired and so unbelievably confused and he had no idea which emotion he felt the strongest.

“Can I ask you something?” he whispered tentatively, peeking through his fingers at Jaebeom’s purple-rimmed eyes. “I just really need to know.”

“Sure.”

The opportunity was right in front of him. Jaebeom was sitting there with his arms open, waiting for the question to fall from his little brother’s lips but Jinyoung couldn’t form the words. He didn’t know how to ask what had really happened last week.

“Did …” he started before erasing that attempt from his mind and starting again. “Was … Was there a man? At the bar that night? Someone that wasn’t any of you guys?”

Jaebeom didn’t blink. For a few moments, Jinyoung wondered if Jaebeom even breathed. He just sat there, face slowly draining of colour until even his lips were closer to white than they were to pink and he didn’t utter a word.

“Jaebeom? Was there a man?”

“I … I don’t know,” Jaebeom spluttered, breaking out into a panicked, flustered smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes or even appear to be remotely real. “There were paramedics and there might have been some random passerby who was trying to check if you were okay but … I don’t … remember anyone specific. Why do you ask?”

It took Jinyoung several moments to process the inquiry. He was too engrossed in the fear flashing across his hyung’s eyes and the awful way he stretched his lips into a grin that looked so painfully forced, and he had no idea what to do.

He had never seen Jaebeom like this. Ever. And they’d known each other for a long,  _ long  _ time.

“No reason,” he whispered, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl in the centre of the table and unpeeling it just to give himself something to do. “I just … I had a dream last night but you’re right. It was probably just a medic.”

“Sure,” Jaebeom shot back, staring down into his untouched cup of coffee. “Sure, it was … Sure …”

“When are we leaving for the radio interview?” Jinyoung backtracked, desperately needing to change the subject before he had to watch Jaebeom sit there for another minute. “It is today, right? I kind of lost track of time and …”

“We’re not going.”

“What?”

“We’re not going,” Jaebeom repeated, drumming his fingers against the sides of the mug as he raised his head but didn’t quite meet Jinyoung’s eye. “The management company told us to take a month off. They cancelled all our schedules.”

“Why?”

It was just a concussion. Apparently. Why the hell would they need to give them a four week-long break if all that was wrong with him was a fuzzy head? 

Seven days he could understand, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t sit at a table with a pair of headphones slapped over his ears and answer a few questions into a microphone.

“Just to make sure you’re fully healed,” was the only answer he got before Bambam was shuffling into the room, mumbling something about craving blueberry pancakes and the conversation was declared finished.

But even as the others filtered into the room, one by one – Mark and Jackson helicoptering a little too much as they repeatedly asked Jinyoung whether he felt alright or needed to pop any pills – Jinyoung kept his eyes on Jaebeom.

He couldn’t look away. He’d known that boy for ten years. He thought he could read him like a book so why couldn’t he figure out what was going on with him? Was he feeling guilty for what had happened to Jinyoung? If so, then why was he the only one? The others seemed fine.

Nothing made sense and Jinyoung’s head was starting to hurt and the moment he rubbed a finger into his temple, Mark was by his side with a box of aspirin, and all he wanted was some damn answers.

But he was too afraid to ask.


	5. The Stalker

“Please don’t do this to yourself.”

Jinyoung froze halfway down the stairs, one foot hovering in mid air as his ears pricked up at the sound of Jackson’s voice filtering through the living room door. 

The tone was soft and heartbroken and as Jinyoung tiptoed down to the bottom of the steps, he heard the unmistakable sound of somebody trying to smother a sob.

“There was absolutely nothing you could have done,” Jackson was saying to whoever was crying on the other side of that door. “You weren’t there so how the hell could this be your fault?”

“They asked me to go …”

Youngjae. It was Youngjae sitting on that couch, undoubtedly clasping his hands over his face as he furiously tried to swat at the tears he couldn’t help from spilling over his flushed cheeks. And Jinyoung didn’t know why.

“But I said I was tired … I stayed home and they were … I wasn't …”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jackson repeated and now Jinyoung was close to tears himself just at hearing the sound of his little brother crying. “Please, believe me, Youngjae. None of this is your fault. Did you hurt them? No. Did you tell him to hurt them? No. So why would you blame yourself like this?”

Were they talking about him? Him as in Jinyoung? Was Youngjae blaming himself for Jinyoung’s hospital stay? But they’d said ‘them’. Plural.

_Did you tell him to hurt them?_

Tell who to hurt who? Someone to hurt Jinyoung? Someone to hurt Jinyoung as well as somebody else? He couldn’t process the confusion and suddenly, that man’s face was swimming in front of his eyes and he had to grab hold of the bannister before he fell.

The breathing in the other room was starting to sound like grating metal as Youngjae spiralled into a deeper chasm of pure panic, and Jinyoung wanted to burst in there and talk him through the attack but he couldn’t.

His vision was spinning. His heart was racing at a million miles an hour. He was scared and he was lost and, above all, he was confused.

Who was this man haunting his nightmares as well as his waking moments? Who was this ‘them’ Jackson was talking about? Who was this ‘him’? Were they connected? Was it all connected? Were his best friends keeping the truth from him for their own undetermined reasons?

Maybe the hyperventilation he could hear wasn’t Youngjae after all.

He needed air and he needed it now.

The front door was only a few steps away and he yanked it open, not even bothering to find his shoes as he stumbled out onto the garden path where the oxygen was fresher and easier to breathe and he no longer felt like the walls were closing in on him.

He leant forwards, bracing his hands on his knees and inhaling deeply through his nose.

“In and out,” he whispered to himself. “In and out … In and out … In and out …”

He no longer felt safe in his own house. Screw that, he no longer felt safe in his own skin. He constantly wanted to scratch it off his bones and toss it away where it could no longer feel like it was being contaminated with a touch that wasn’t his.

And he didn’t know why it wasn’t his. He didn’t know why his own bed felt wrong beneath his body at night. He didn’t know why there were always fingers brushing against his stomach when no one was touching him.

He didn’t know what had happened to him or what was currently happening to him. All he knew was that he was fucking terrified.

Jinyoung surfaced from the ocean of his own fear and straightened up, glancing across the road to where the cars were parked in a neat little line along the sidewalk and a man was staring right at him and …

A man was staring right at him.

He recognised that man. It was the same man he’d seen when Yugyeom brought him home from the hospital. The same man. The same expression. The same malignant gaze boring into Jinyoung’s body.

The same guy.

“Hey!” he yelled, storming down the path towards the road. “Who the fuck are you and why do you keep staring at me?”

There was no reply. His stalker’s lips twitched at the corners in a sick little smile but no words fell from his mouth. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and posture strong and confident.

“Leave me alone!” Jinyoung screamed, reaching the gate at the bottom of the garden and bracing his hands against it.

Even if he was furious and freaked out beyond imagination, he had a feeling that he didn’t want to eradicate the only barrier between him and that creep.

“Go away or I’m calling the police!”

“Jinyoung?”

He heard Jackson’s voice from the porch behind him but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t look away for fear that this man would somehow speed forwards and lock his hands around his throat.

Hands around his throat.

_Such a score._

He knew that face.

He knew those eyes.

_That’s right, baby, just let it happen._

“Jinyoung, what are you doing?”

Why couldn’t he breathe? Why was his chest caving in on itself? Why were his bones crushing his lungs and his throat closing to the width of a penny and why couldn’t he move his feet?

_Maybe I should keep you._

“Jinyoung, get back in the house!”

Jinyoung’s world righted itself again as Jackson grabbed him by the shoulders and started pulling backwards, his voice panicked and fearful and doing nothing for Jinyoung’s own impending breakdown.

“Jinyoung, get back in the fucking house! Go now!”

He was being pushed, and he ran because he didn’t know what else to do. His mind was on autopilot, only obeying the orders he was given, and he could hear Jackson screaming behind him but he had no idea what was saying.

His knees were wobbling, his legs were threatening to give out and Mark was leaping off the porch to grab him and drag him over the threshold and he still had no idea what was going on.

“Breathe,” Mark was telling him and he wondered how he’d gotten onto his knees in the hallway. “Breathe, Jinyoung. Breathe with me. Come on.”

_So beautiful._

_You’re going to be a star._

_That’s right, baby. Just let it happen._

Someone was holding a paper bag to his mouth and he was gasping into it, unable to coordinate his limbs to the appropriate places as his ears were filled with the sound of the recyclable material crinkling every time it inflated and deflated.

“Police, please.”

They were calling the police. Bambam was calling the police but he didn’t know why. He only knew fear and hands and a voice that was reverberating around his skull without mercy or clemency.

_Everyone’s going to be so jealous._

He could hear music, so loud that it was shaking his bones, and lights were flashing in every direction. Purple and orange and blue and green and still it was somehow dark and he was sweating and everything smelled and tasted … bad.

_That’s right, baby. Just let it happen._

_You’re going to be a star._


	6. The Bad Man

There were police officers downstairs, talking with Jaebeom, Jackson, Mark and their manager, but Jinyoung had been banished to the kitchen.

He could hear Bambam, Yugyeom and Youngjae in the lounge, their video game turned up to the highest sound setting so they could drown out the conversation that was being held just a few walls away, and Jinyoung didn’t even want to join them.

Those people were discussing him. They had to be. There was no other reason why they would be here. His members and his manager were sitting with officers of the fucking law, rattling off information to do with  _ his  _ injuries and  _ his  _ nightmares.

And that man.

It all had something to do with that man.

It had only been a few hours since Jinyoung had come down from his panic attack and already he was starting to feel the tingling sensation returning to his fingertips at the mere thought of that figure residing on the sidewalk, pockets bulging with his fists and eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

That man was a bad man.

That was the only thing Jinyoung knew for sure.

A very, very bad man.

He had the distinct feeling that man had done something to him. Had hurt him in some way that had caused him to end up in the hospital with bruises encircling his wrists and splattered against his thighs.

And the words he was hearing in his head.

And the nightmares that plagued his every sleeping moment.

And the way Jackson had freaked out the moment he’d laid eyes on him.

Didn’t he have a right to know what this man had done to cause his subconscious so much panic? Didn’t he have a right to know the truth behind his memory loss, his bruises, his panic attacks and his unshakable feeling that someone was always touching him? Didn’t he have a right?

Of course, he did.

But did he really want to use it?

“Fuck it.”

He pushed out of his chair, the wooden legs scraping painfully against the tiled floor, and shoved his way through the door, pounding down the hallway and bursting into the living room where his friends and his managers were congregated before the police officers.

“Jinyoung …” his manager started, already half rising from his seat by the time Jinyoung had managed to take in the sight in front of him.

Jaebeom had been crying. His face was red from how hard he’d been trying to hide it but his eyes were swollen and his hands were shaking in his lap, an ailment that only increased in severity when he saw Jinyoung.

Jackson had an arm around him but that was retracted at the dramatic and inordinately rude entrance of his dongsaeng, and Mark was just sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, looking as if he’d run a million miles without a single break.

And then there were the police officers.

Two females, solemn and serious-looking as they made notes in their little flip pads with tiny pencils worn down by months and months’ worth of barely-legible scribbles.

“I want to know what happened to me,” Jinyoung bit out, pushing aside any other emotions he was feeling and letting the determination take hold. “I want to know every last detail and I want to know it now because I deserve that much.”

There was silence as everybody stared at him, framed in the doorway with his hairline ever so slightly damp from sweat and his fingers fidgeting anxiously at his side.

“Are you Park Jinyoung-ssi?” one of the officers finally prodded from the couch and Jinyoung nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, sir. My name is Officer Kim and this is Officer …”

“I don’t care!” Jinyoung snapped, dismissing her useless introductions with a frustrated wave of his hand. “I don’t care what your names are or why you’re here! I want to know why I can’t remember anything, why I have bruises and why I keep seeing this guy’s face in my sleep! The very same guy who's now been caught staring at our house twice! I deserve to know what happened to me!”

He was breathing heavily, nostrils flaring and shoulders heaving from the exertion it had taken just to gather the courage to utter those words. But whatever strain his lungs were under was absolutely nothing compared to Jaebeom’s.

His leader didn’t even look like he knew how to inhale.

“Jinyoung-ssi …” the manager started again, glancing at Mark’s helpless expression with an identical one of his own. “Jinyoung-ssi, I don’t think this is the right time to have this conversation but we can …”

“He hurt me, didn’t he?”

He didn’t care anymore. He was too desperate. He was too tired.

“That guy? That’s why you’re calling the police, that’s why Jackson freaked out, that’s why he’s sneaking around at the bottom of our garden. He hurt me and now he wants to come back and finish what he …”

“Jaebeom!”

Jinyoung was cut off abruptly, his feet instinctively taking him one step back as Jaebeom practically dived for the door and sprinted out into the hallway.

His head was hung low, concealing his face, but Jinyoung had seen the way he was clutching at his chest and Jinyoung had heard the way his breathing sounded like nails on a chalkboard and Jinyoung recognised those symptoms immediately.

Panic attack.

Why was Jaebeom having panic attacks about something that had happened to Jinyoung? Why was he acting like he had been affected worse than the actual victim of this story? Is that why they weren’t giving him any straight answers? Because Jaebeom was too fragile?

Fuck him.

Jinyoung was about to follow his leader out the door but Jackson beat him to it, already jogging up the stairs by the time the younger boy had convinced his legs to move.

“Leave it,” came Mark’s voice and a hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder. “He needs space.”

And with that, he was gone too, setting his own hypocritical example as he scampered up the steps towards the sound of Jaebeom’s bedroom door slamming and the full-fledged breakdown finally bubbling over the top.

Jinyoung just stood there, blank and confused and, most of all, angry.

“Well, sir,” one of the officers said as she and her partner rose to their feet, folding up their notebooks and tucking them in their vests. “You have our number if you need anything.”

Jinyoung watched them go, unable to even bring himself to bow in response to their parting farewells, and when the front door finally swung shut behind them, he turned to his manager with his jaw set and his fists clenched at his side.

“What’s happening to me?” he hissed, almost trembling with how much fury was coursing through his blood. “And don’t you dare lie to me, hyung.”

In any other situation, his manager would scold him for such disrespectful language, but now he just sighed and ran a veined hand over his scalp.

“I know that this is confusing, Jinyoung,” he said, and Jinyoung had to bite back a laugh. “And I can’t even begin to imagine what you must be feeling, but please understand me when I say there are parts of this story that your bandmates aren’t ready for you to know.”

“What does it matter what they’re ready for?” Jinyoung burst, unsure what to do to get rid of the strong urge to punch something. “You can’t keep me in the dark like this! It’s selfish and it’s messed up and it’s cruel! Something horrible happened to me and I don’t even remember what it is!”

He had to pause, gasping for breath as his chest started to tighten and he had to fight the oncoming waves of anxiety that seemed to always be threatening to drench him these days.

“Please tell me …” he whispered in one last act of desperation.

But his manager just smiled sadly, clapped him on the shoulder, told him to call if he ever needed anything and left the house, abandoning Jinyoung in the middle of his own living room, feeling as if he wasn’t even at home in his own body anymore. 


	7. The One Word

_“So beautiful.”_

_ Fingers tracing his jawline. _

_ “Such a score.” _

_ Breath on his neck. _

_ “You’re going to be a star.” _

_ Eyes above him, burning into his soul. _

_ “Just stay there now, that’s right.” _

_ Can’t keep his eyes open. _

_ “Everyone’s going to be so jealous.” _

_ Can’t lift his arms. Or his legs. Or his head. _

_ “Maybe I should keep you.” _

_ Cold air breezing over his chest. _

_ Can’t move. Can’t feel. Can’t breathe. _

_ “That’s right, baby. Just let it happen.” _

_ Weight. On top of him. Hands where hands shouldn’t be. Travelling down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down … _

__

Jinyoung awoke, clothes plastered to his sweat-soaked body, rolled over in bed and vomited his stomach’s entire contents over the carpet.

The smell was suffocating, almost as suffocating as the nightmare playing over in his head. He could remember it this time. Clear as day. Clear as anything. He remembered each mismatched image, blending together into one smooth montage of pain and terror.

Abandoning the puke on the floor for the time being, he forced his trembling figure into a sitting position, kicking the dampened blankets off his legs. He had to wash. Now. Right this very instant.

He had to get rid of those hands.

His legs were too unsteady, barely allowing him to wobble towards the bathroom and he couldn’t have ripped his clothes off fast enough. He knew they would go in the trash as soon as he’d scrubbed his body until it squeaked so it didn’t matter if he tore the fabric in his desperation to part the garments from his skin.

The water was scalding hot, the dial turned too far up, but Jinyoung didn’t care. He threw himself under the burning faucet, the heat mingling with the ice in his gut and creating a horrible cocktail in the pit of his stomach.

He swallowed back another wave of vomit and seized the shampoo, lathering it into his hair with such ferocity that his fingers came away entangled with blackened strands he’d pulled from his scalp.

And he still couldn’t breathe.

Tears mingled with shower water and so it felt like he was crying an ocean. There was soap in his eyes but he didn’t care. His skin was beetroot red, scalded by the dangerous temperatures, but he didn’t care about that either.

He would burn, he would cry, he would scream, he would do absolutely anything in this world to rid himself of this feeling.

This feeling of disgust. Of hatred. Of uncleanliness. And every time he looked at his bare body beneath him, he saw the bruises and it didn’t matter if they’d faded to a pale, ugly greenish colour because that man’s fingerprints were stamped onto his skin.

His DNA was still there, inked into his bloodstream. It would be there forever. Under his nails, in his hair, spreading to everything and everyone that he touched.

_ Maybe I should keep you. _

He threw up again, his sobs increasing in intensity as he scrubbed the semi-digested chunks from his body and pushed them down the plughole with his foot. His chest was being compressed, his ribs breaking, his skin burning.

Soap bottles littered the shower floor, floating in the few inches of water sloshing over the porcelain, each one of them empty and used up.

Empty.

Used up.

Just like him.

He hadn’t cut his nails in weeks so when he dug them into the skin of his abdomen and started scratching, it only took a few minutes before he drew blood. It didn’t matter. 

He kept going, kept peeling his own shell off his body in the desperate hope that it would make him feel clean again.

_ Such a score. _

He was a person. A living, breathing, existing person. Not a prize to be won. But that’s exactly what he’d become. That man’s belongings. Owned. Possessed. Ruined.

He’d not only been stripped of his clothes and his dignity but his humanity as well. What was he worth if a complete stranger had seen him like that? Had done …  _ that?  _ He was nothing. Filthy. Dirty. Disgusting.

_ That’s right, baby. Just let it happen. _

And he had. He’d let it happen. All of it. But he couldn’t remember why.

He couldn’t remember anything except those words and those hands and that face. Everything else was a blur. Who? Where? When? Why? How? Every single one of those questions went unanswered in his panicked, traumatised mind.

But not the ‘what?’

He knew the ‘what?’

And he wished he didn’t. He would have cut off his own leg if it meant he didn’t know  _ what  _ had happened that night, but he did.

It was the one thing he could remember with perfect clarity. The fear, the helplessness, the inability to lift even a finger to stop it. Like he’d been locked inside his own body, just watching the world unfold in front of him through his eyes but unable to do a thing to prevent it.

That.

The thing he knew he should have suspected as soon as he laid eyes on his bruised wrists in the hospital bathroom.

The thing he had pushed to the back of his mind every time it surfaced because it was just too terrible to even consider.

The thing his best friends had refused to disclose to him, probably because they believed that, in their own sick and twisted way, they were protecting him from the knowledge of his own trauma.

He shut off the water and let himself slide down the wall until his body made a soft splash in the slowly-draining fluid on the shower floor. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, buried his face in his thighs and cried.

He was freezing. He was hyperventilating. He was shivering like crazy.

But it didn’t matter what was happening to him here and now.

All that mattered was what had happened to him there and then.

One word.

One awful, awful word that shouldn’t exist in this world and yet it did because society was about as fucked up as it gets.

One word.

Rape.


	8. The Numbness

Jinyoung had absolutely no idea how long he sat there, skin pricked with goosebumps, curled in on himself, face nestled in his knees, before somebody finally opened the door and when they did, he didn’t even care that he wasn’t wearing anything.

He was broken. In every possible way. He was absolutely shattered.

“Hyung?”

It didn’t matter that Bambam was swearing under his breath as he pulled open the shower door and wrapped Jinyoung in a towel. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the fact that he was broken.

He was so broken that he started crying even though there was no fluid left in his body. He just sat there, engulfed in the white fluffy folds with Bambam kneeling on the sodden floor in front of him, and sobbed his fucking heart out.

“Jinyoung-hyung?” Bambam was saying, his hand coming to rest nervously on his big brother’s knee. “Jinyoung-hyung, talk to me.”

Why should he? What good was that going to do? Talking didn’t change the past. Talking didn’t erase the memories from his head. Talking wouldn’t fill in the blanks that were still swallowing up the story’s main components. Talking would do nothing.

He should have known better than to delve into his own mind to try and unearth the truth.

There was muttering above him, another voice joining in and he vaguely recognised Youngjae’s frightened tone before the door swung shut yet again and Bambam made one final attempt at gaining his attention.

“Jinyoung-hyung?” he whispered tentatively, as though he were preparing himself for some kind of psychotic meltdown. “Youngjae’s gone to get you some clothes. Can you stand up so we can get you out of the shower and into something warm?”

Warm. The idea was almost laughable. Jinyoung was never going to be warm again. He actually wished he was colder. So cold that he would freeze. Freeze forever. Freeze so that he wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that would have done better left unlearned.

“Please, hyung,” Bambam pushed, apparently wary of trying to touch him. “You must be so cold.”

He was. But that didn’t mean he was ready to uncurl himself from this protective ball he’d made from his own trembling limbs. He had created his own shelter where he knew he could be safe, where he knew nobody could hurt him and where he knew it was safe to cry as hard as he wanted.

There was a shuffle as Bambam crossed his legs beneath him and tried to make himself comfortable on the floor of the shower. He didn’t say anything else, he just sat there, assuring Jinyoung that he was there and that he was going to give him as much time as he needed.

Jinyoung couldn’t tell him that he would probably need more than a lifetime before he was ever ready to face the world again.

It may have been hours or it may have only been a few minutes but when Jinyoung finally lifted his chin and peered over the top of his knees, he saw Bambam and Youngjae’s teary eyes staring back at him, wide and worried.

He didn’t know when the older boy had arrived but the sight of him crouched beside the shower, crying because of  _ him,  _ was enough to have him reaching out his hand towards Bambam, silently accepting the help he was being offered. 

“Thank you,” the boy said, slightly breathless with relief as he brought another towel up to dry Jinyoung’s hair before they started to help him change. “You’re okay, hyung. It’s going to be okay.”

How could he possibly know that? How could he say such a thing when he wasn’t the one with those images pulsating at the back of his eyes, never to be forgotten ever again. How could he even begin to imagine what Jinyoung was going through at that very moment?

And Jinyoung would have screamed it in his face, every last detail, to shock that stupid kid into silence because the last thing he needed right now was somebody telling him it was going to be ‘okay’ when it quite obviously wasn’t, but he said nothing.

He was too tired. He didn’t have the energy. He didn’t have the will. Maybe he never would. Maybe this was it now: locked inside his own crusty exterior of skin and makeup, doomed to relive snippets of the same experience on a loop for the rest of his life.

“Do you need something?” Youngjae asked softly as he and Bambam carefully guided their hyung back to his bed. “Do you want a drink or a hot water bottle? Should I get Jackson-hyung? You don’t need a doctor, do you?”

Jinyoung ignored him. He was too tired. He didn’t have the energy. He didn’t have the will.

The only thing he did have was the ability to lie back against his pillows and curl into the tiniest ball possible as Youngjae seemed to accept that talking was off the menu and gently pulled the blankets over his hyung’s body.

“I’m going to stay, hyung, alright?” he promised but Jinyoung didn’t miss the way his eyes zapped up to Bambam and some kind of secret message was passed between them. “If you need anything, you just let me know. I’m going to be right here.”

Jinyoung ignored him. He was too tired. He didn’t have the energy. He didn’t have the will.

He heard the door being pulled shut as Bambam left to tattle to the hyungs and he closed his eyes. But he didn’t sleep. He wouldn’t let himself. Because as soon as he fell into that dark chasm, he would face the memories again.

He couldn’t handle that.

A quick glance at the clock beside his bed told him it was 6am and so he felt no surprise when Youngjae’s soft snores filtered across the room from the chair he’d folded himself into. On days when they had no schedules, they sometimes didn’t get up until midday.

Jinyoung lay there, watching that man’s face looming over him, eyes narrowed in satisfaction, lips curled in a smirk. It was like a movie was playing inside his head. He could see every pore in the sunken skin, every wonky tooth, every yellowing fingernail. Then the memory would fade away and another would take its place, just as clear, just as terrifying.

Raped.

There was no other explanation. And the others hadn’t told him. They had lied straight to his face, making up ridiculous stories about getting too drunk and passing out in the middle of the road. The police had been in this very household and he hadn’t been given a chance to talk to them.

Were they trying to find this sadist without him?

“He’s asleep, you said?”

Jinyoung’s ears pricked as he caught Mark’s whispering voice from outside in the corridor, followed by Bambam’s hum of affirmation. Not only were they lying to him but now they were talking about him behind his back.

“Hyung,” Bambam was saying, sounding as if he were on the verge of punching somebody. “He was so upset. Keeping this from him … It’s not helping; it’s hurting him and it’s only going to get worse until he finds out for himself.”

They didn’t know he’d already found out. They had underestimated his intelligence. They had lied to him, they were talking about him behind his back and now they thought he was stupid. Was there anything else he should add to the list of reasons why they shouldn’t be his friends anymore?

“We can’t tell him yet,” Mark hissed back. “For Jaebeom’s sake. He’s not ready for Jinyoung to know what happened and we have to respect that.”

If Jinyoung was capable of feeling anything but numbness then he would be incandescent with anger at this very moment. If he could move his legs then he would leap out of this bed, go out into that hallway and punch Mark square in the face.

What the fuck did Jaebeom matter in this situation? Was he the one who got raped? No. So why should he get to decide when to tell Jinyoung that his body had been violated in the most gruesome way imaginable? Was he ashamed that he’d let it happen? That he hadn’t been the leader Jinyoung had needed him to be?

“Lying to him like this … It’s just cruel, hyung. He’s going to find out and when he does, he’ll hate us.”

Well, Bambam was right in that aspect. He did hate them. He hated them with all this heart. He hated them with every fibre of his being. If they supposedly cared so much about him then why hadn’t they been there to save him? Why hadn’t they done anything? Why had they let him down?

“We should go back to bed,” Mark concluded and Jinyoung could practically see him running his fingers over his face in exhaustion. “It’s still early and we’re not going to solve anything unless we actually get some rest.”

It seemed that Bambam was angry because there was no reply, only footsteps stomping back down the hallway and Mark’s long, slow sigh of resignation. He didn’t deserve to be resigned. He deserved to feel guilty. Immeasurably guilty.

And Jinyoung just felt numb.

He didn’t know how to deal with this. He didn’t know how to be this person. This person who knew that a complete stranger had … done  _ that  _ to him. And probably something else as well, considering his memory was still peppered with holes.

He didn’t know anything except that he was angry and that he was frightened and that he was numb.

And also that he’d been raped. 


	9. The Awful Human

He’d barely been lying there twenty minutes before he had to get up.

He just had to. The covers felt scratchy, poison seeping through his skin and infecting his blood with that man’s touches. The blankets were weighing him down, pushing him into the mattress, swallowing him up, drowning him in cotton fibres.

Someone had cleaned the vomit from the floor, probably Youngjae while Bambam had been talking him down in the shower, but that didn’t even register with Jinyoung as he swung his legs off the bed and propelled himself away.

Far away.

Youngjae was still asleep in the corner of the room, legs pulled up onto the seat of the chair and tucked uncomfortably against his chest. He would probably stay, keeping vigil, until judgement day if he thought it would bring his hyung even a smidgen of comfort.

Jinyoung didn’t have time to feel guilt or endearment at his little brother’s actions. He needed to feel small. Covered up. Concealed. Invisible. Right now. So no one would ever want to touch him again.

He bundled his exhausted arms into a hoodie, allowing the hem to drop to his mid-thigh. It was not enough. Not nearly enough. But it was the best he could do without wearing a trench coat and that had never really been his style.

Youngjae was still snoring even as his hyung padded past him and slipped through the bedroom door, leaving him to keep watch over someone who wasn’t even there anymore. It was too dark in there. He couldn’t handle any more darkness in his life.

Jaebeom was at the kitchen table, an untouched cup of coffee cupped in both his trembling hands, his glazed eyes fixed on the wooden surface in front of him. Like always. Like he was part of the furniture.

And Jinyoung felt anger. Strong, apoplectic, red hot anger burning his blood in his veins and pounding against the inside of his skull so violently that he would have drilled a hole in his head to make it stop.

But there was another way to let it out. A far more satisfying way.

“How could you not tell me?” he hissed into the silence, watching with a sick sense of satisfaction as Jaebeom leapt out of his skin with his eyes growing to the size of tennis balls.

“What?” he spluttered, staring up at Jinyoung with not even a hint of colour to his cheeks.

“I said,” Jinyoung repeated coldly. “How could you not tell me? How could you do that? Did you think you were protecting me or did you just want to cover up your own failure?”

Someone had to pay. Someone  _ needed  _ to pay for what had been done to him and the bastard who was actually responsible was in the wind. So the punishment fell to the only person left available: Jaebeom.

“Jinyoung, I …”

“You disgust me,” Jinyoung spat at him, lips curled at the edges just to prove his point. “You’re the one playing the victim, bawling like a baby, having everyone running around for you, catering to your needs, when I’m the one who got raped.”

At the mention of that last word, Jaebeom’s jaw dropped and he sucked a tiny, strangled breath through the ‘O’ shape his colourless lips made. He looked like his lungs had just dried up. Like he’d been frozen in that chair from the pure shock of it all.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung continued without mercy. “I know now. You didn’t think I’d find out, did you? You thought that whatever  _ he  _ did to me was strong enough to make me forget what he did next.”

He was crying. Great big salted dollops rolling down his cheeks in torrents and he didn’t lift a finger to wipe them away. He wanted Jaebeom to see his pain. The pain he had let fester because he was too cowardly to voice the truth.

“Do you …” his tone hitched and his breath caught in his throat but he powered on regardless. “…have any idea what I’m feeling right now?”

Jaebeom wasn’t breathing. Jinyoung didn’t care.

“My body isn’t my own anymore. I feel … so filthy and … disgusting. I want to kill myself, Jaebeom. That’s how awful this is. I want to kill myself because I can’t bear the thought of somebody … touching me like that. I can’t bear the thought of anyone finding out and I can’t bear the thought of going back on stage and pretending I’m still the person our fans want me to be when everyone on that stage with me knows that the only thing I am is used up and broken.”

“Jinyoung?”

It was Jackson’s voice in the doorway, tentative and terrified, but Jinyoung didn’t turn around. He couldn’t take his gaze off Jaebeom’s face. 

His hyung’s muscles were slack, his eyes were unfocused and glassy, his cheeks were soaked with his own tears and his lips were parted like a goldfish gasping for air.

“Jae, what ---?”

Jackson strode past him, their shoulders brushing together for a brief second of contact before the older boy was crouching beside Jaebeom’s chair. And Jinyoung couldn’t help the snort of mirthless amusement at the sight.

“Does anyone give a fuck about me?” he yelled, throwing his hands in the air as the last feeble strands of his protective barrier were shattered. “Does anyone fucking care?”

He didn’t know where Mark came from but suddenly the eldest was right in front of him, his spindly body blocking Jinyoung’s view of Jaebeom and Jackson at the table.

“Of course, we care. Jinyoung, I have no idea what to say to you right now. I know we don’t understand anything and that the way we handled this was all kinds of wrong, but let’s discuss it upstairs, okay?”

A hand reached for Jinyoung’s shoulder but he swatted it aside in disgust, still crying a snotty river like some toddler throwing a tantrum.

“You don’t have the right to order me around,” he hissed in Mark’s face. “None of you have the right to say anything to me ever again. I don’t even want to look at you.”

His hyung’s face crumpled, eyes watering. “Jinyoung, please … I’m so …”

“You’re sorry,” Jinyoung interrupted coldly. “I get it. But sometimes ‘sorry’ isn’t fucking good enough,  _ hyung. _ ”

There was the scrape of chair legs on a tiled floor and Jackson grunted as he caught Jaebeom's body and guided it from the seat to the ground as their leader exploded into the most brutal panic attack Jinyoung had ever heard.

He was partly concealed behind the table but as Mark threw himself on the ground at his side, Jinyoung caught sight of his best friend – the person who used to be his best friend – shrivelled into a ball with his arms over his head and his shoulders heaving with choked, rattling sobs.

And something inside Jinyoung faltered.

Some of that anger faded to concern and he found himself frozen to the spot, unable to even blink as one of the people he loved most in this world opened his mouth and started to scream. It was a raw, broken sound and even as Mark and Jackson tried everything they could to calm him, it had no end.

_ Open the door!  _

It was hitting him like a truck.

_ What did you do to him?  _

There were no images, only sounds.

_ You’re disgusting! _

A voice. One voice. Jaebeom’s voice.

_ Jinyoung? Jinyoung, can you hear me? _

Panicked. Terrified. Desperate.

_ What the hell did you give him? _

Jinyoung stumbled, catching his balance before he could fall, and as his vision stopped spinning, he could see that Bambam had joined the hyungs at their leader’s side, his face contorted into an expression of pure terror.

“What’s happening?” Jinyoung whispered, raising his voice when his question went unanswered. “What’s wrong with him?”

Yugyeom stepped into his line of sight, fingers fastening on his hyung’s shoulders as he bent his knees slightly so that Jinyoung would have no choice but to look him straight in the eye.

“We’re going outside,” he stated, short and swift, and his arm was already around Jinyoung, preparing to turn him around and steer him through the door, but his efforts were thwarted at once.

“No,” Jinyoung protested frantically, craning his neck in an attempt to catch another glimpse of Jaebeom. “What’s happening to him? Why is he doing that?”

Jaebeom’s cries intensified to a point where Jackson’s shout almost went unheard. “Gyeom, get him out of here!”

And Jinyoung snapped, a combination of fear for Jaebeom’s health and fury that he was being barred from yet another situation that he deserved to be a part of.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” he bellowed, giving Yugyeom a brutal shove to stop his attempts at removing him from the scene. “Is he so traumatised that I got raped and he didn’t stop it?”

It was singularly the most repulsive thing to ever come from his mouth and the look of pure horror splashed across Yugyeom’s face was enough to tell him one thing: he was an awful human being.


	10. The Realisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can, please donate to the Lebanon Crisis Appeal

Yugyeom pushed him out into the hallway, closing the kitchen door behind them to at least attempt to muffle the sounds of Jaebeom's panic attack, and Jinyoung realised for the first time that Youngjae was with them. 

"I didn't mean that," he muttered, still a little stunned with his own verbal outburst. "I swear, I didn't mean to say that. I just … I …"

He raked his fingers through his hair, pulse racing so fast that he wondered if it were going to break through his skin. He didn't know what he was. He didn't know what he was feeling. All his emotions were blended in a hectic snowstorm of fear and confusion and helplessness. 

Anger. Just seconds previously, that had been all he experienced. Anger and betrayal. But now he had no idea. None at all. 

"Why would you say something like that?" Yugyeom whispered, face slack with shock. "Hyung, I know you're going through hell but … that was uncalled for."

Jinyoung knew he was right. He knew he'd probably just caused Jaebeom a great deal of pain when he was already in total agony, but he, himself, was hurting too. 

He felt like crumpling to the floor and screaming until his lungs burst. He felt like dying. He felt like everything was disintegrating around him and he wanted someone to hold him like they were holding Jaebeom and he wanted to be cared for like they were caring for Jaebeom. 

But nobody was doing that. 

"Hyung, let's go upstairs," Youngjae coaxed, pushing past Yugyeom and taking the older boy by the elbows. "You're in shock. You need to sit down."

But Jinyoung stepped away from the gentle grip, shaking his head and mouthing the words he wanted to say but couldn't form. 

He didn't want to leave Jaebeom. He would never want to leave anyone in that kind of state. Even now, he could faintly hear Jackson calling an ambulance. 

"I … I don't … I don't understand," he stuttered as his own panic reached boiling point. "What happened to him? Why is … Why is he like that when I'm the one who… who...has to live with these memories?”

“Actually, you’re not.”

Jinyoung froze. He felt like his heart actually stopped beating and the only thing that convinced him time hadn’t ceased to exist was Jaebeom’s ragged sobs from through the kitchen door to his left.

Yugyeom was staring him down, jaw set and arms folded over his chest in a clear indication of rage, and Youngjae’s eyes had bulged almost comically as his head snapped between the two of them as though it were attached to a spring.

It took several moments for Jinyoung to find his voice, “What?”

“I said,” Yugyeom ground out. “That you’re not the one who has to live with this.”

“Yugyeom,” Youngjae whispered, too stunned to raise his voice any louder. “Get out now.”

Nobody moved. Not Youngjae, not Yugyeom, not Jinyoung. The older two were still too shocked from the outburst and the youngest seemed to be supressing the urge to commit a brutal and bloody murder.

“What did you say?” Jinyoung repeated as realisation slowly – _slowly –_ started to dawn on him. “Why … Why am I not … What?”

“Yugyeom, go!” Youngjae screamed, planting both his hands in the centre of Yugyeom’s chest and shoving him backwards to the living room. “Get the fuck out of here!”

Jinyoung felt like his world was closing in around him. Yugyeom shot him one final withering glare before disappearing through the door Youngjae was shepherding him towards. And Jinyoung felt like his world was closing in around him. Closing in …

_Open the door!_

_Tell me what you did to him!_

_You’re disgusting!_

_Jinyoung? Jinyoung, can you hear me?_

_What the hell did you give him?_

He could hear the words in his head. In his soul. Jaebeom’s words. Jaebeom’s voice. Jaebeom.

Then somebody else.

_I’ll give you a choice._

It clicked. And everything went to shit.

Jinyoung wasted no time. The thought of being in that house, Jaebeom’s screams reverberating against the insides of his skull, for another second while those words hung in the air like an axe ready to come down on their necks was enough to make him want to vomit. Again.

Youngjae tried to stop him but he didn't try hard enough. In all honesty, he probably didn’t want to. Jinyoung was out the front door before he had to face the consequences of what he’d just heard.

He could barely feel the ground beneath his feet. The sun had only just risen, the sky still tinted with a pinkish tinge, and so the streets were relatively bare. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care. He just had to get away.

Far, far, far away.

Why hadn’t he noticed? Why hadn’t he suspected? Why had he been so wrapped up in his own suffering and his own pain and his own memories that he hadn’t noticed what was staring him straight in the face?

All the signs had been there since the very beginning. He’d been blind.

“Jaebeom,” he whispered to himself, lost inside his own head as he ambled aimlessly onwards. “What the fuck did you do?”

His memories had misled him. He could feel it now. He’d taken the recollections his nightmares had presented and he’d jumped to the first conclusion his mind could procure. And it was false. He’d never been so wrong. 

And now he felt like everything was crumbling to dust around him.

“Bit early to be wandering about without any shoes, don’t you think?”

On any other day, the sudden appearance of such a leathery voice would have sent Jinyoung spiralling into a world of terror, but today, he felt nothing. He was nothing. He didn’t know if he could even identify who he was anymore.

He glanced over his shoulder, realising for the first time that his numbed feet had carried him to the park, and locked eyes with the very person he thought would reduce him to a snivelling mess of tears and snot and fear.

But he felt nothing. He was nothing. Not anymore.

The man was standing roughly ten feet away, hands in his pockets, feet shoulder width apart, just like he’d been both times Jinyoung had seen him gawping at them from across the street. His ballcap was gone, his mask, too, and now his face was on full view.

The face of one of the foulest monsters to ever walk the earth.

“I was wondering when you’d find the balls to talk to me,” Jinyoung deadpanned, ironing his features into an emotionless slab. “Finally got bored of loitering in front of our house like some high school pervert?”

His enemy’s eyebrows arched in surprise, lips twisting in a smirk as his head bobbed amusedly, and Jinyoung knew he should be running for the hills, screaming down his phone for the police, but he wasn’t. And he wouldn’t.

“Maybe it’s arrogant but I have to admit, I thought you’d be a little more intimidated by me.”

Now it was Jinyoung’s turn to smirk as he lathered his tone with as much venom as he could muster, “I probably would be if all you’d done was hurt me. But taking Jaebeom as well … That’s just really pissed me off.”

There was no one around. No one to see this little exchange or the horrors that could potentially follow. There would be no one to help him should he need it. But, in this moment, that was exactly what Jinyoung wanted.

Nobody stepping in. Nobody interfering. Nobody trying to protect him.

Because Jaebeom had. And that’s what had put him in so much pain.

“You didn’t just rape me, did you?” Jinyoung whispered, feeling the fury building up as quickly as the tears in his eyes. “You raped my best friend as well.”

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting from the monster in front of him. Shock. Fear. Laughter. An attack. An attempt to replicate all those horrific things he’d done before. But whatever his mind had assumed was going to happen, it wasn’t what did.

“Almost there,” his tormentor mocked him.

_I’ll give you a choice._

“But you’ve missed just one little detail.”

_Stay or leave._

“I never touched you at all.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am loving these theories, by the way. They're a joy to read. No one's got it exactly right yet though.


	11. The Drinking

“Why does something so damaging have to feel this good?” Jinyoung groaned as he set his beer bottle down on the table and leant back against the padded red chairs of the booth. “It’s like my body wants to get liver cancer.”

From across the mahogany, Jaebeom smirked at him over the top of his own beverage, his face slightly flushed from the alcohol in his system.

“I get what you mean,” he hummed. “We never really got the chance to experience what it’s like to be completely and utterly hammered. We were trainees years before we hit legal drinking age.”

“Like that ever stopped us,” Jinyoung countered defensively. “I distinctly remember playing  _ Never Have I Ever  _ with Hyunwoo that one night when you kept saying stupid stuff like ‘Never have I ever breathed’ just to get us all as drunk as possible.”

He grinned stupidly as Jaebeom gave a groan, burying his face in his hands. “Oh, God, I remember that. I can’t believe we were ever so …”

“Immature?” Jinyoung offered, the corners of his lips still twisted upwards. “Aren’t we still a little immature?”

“No,” Jaebeom snapped, pointing his finger straight at Jinyoung’s face before gesturing between the two of them. “We are the mature ones. Jackson, Gyeom, Bam, on the other hand … They’re the children trapped inside adult bodies.”

They chuckled softly before lapsing into a comfortable silence, sipping on their beers and glancing across the bar every now and then to check if Mark was winning his current game of pool.

“I miss Jackson,” Jinyoung suddenly stated, his words starting to slur ever so slightly. “I don’t get why he has to go away. I mean … Obviously, I get it. But it just seems so ridiculous. Our fucking name is Got7 and yet every time we go to Japan, we’re parading around as six.”

He always overshared a little too much when he drank. The others thought it was endearing and cute but when he sobered up the following morning, he usually regretted the things he’d said.

“You want another?” he grunted, gesturing towards Jaebeom’s empty bottle and his leader inclined his head with a grateful hum. “Same, right?”

“You got it.”

Jinyoung pulled his mask from under his chin and made sure his mouth and nose were properly covered before he pushed out of his chair and sidled over to the bar. 

Having an opportunity like this to just … release was so rare that it was virtually euphoric whenever they got a chance to sneak out, ditch the bodyguards and drown their stresses in alcohol.

The only thing he wished was different was the fact that they still had to cover their faces. It got suffocating and stuffy, particularly when they were tipsy.

“Refill, please,” he requested, setting the barren bottles on the bar top. “Thanks.”

He watched as the bronze waterfall filled up the first cup, the bubbles swimming towards the frothy surface, and reached out to wrap his hand around the icy glass, condensation mingling with the sweat on his palm.

There was a triumphant cheer from behind and he turned around, grinning at the sight of Mark and Jaebeom high-fiving over the pool table as whatever unfortunate soul who’d thought taking on their eldest was a good idea had to cough up what they owed.

He watched them for a few more minutes, thinking back to that godawful trainee period when they were all pushed to breaking point and on the verge of quitting almost every single day. They fought, they argued, they hated each other’s guts on most occasions but then debut finally came and all those disagreements just seemed to iron themselves out.

Still smiling fondly as he tugged down his maak, Jinyoung turned back to the bar and retrieved both glasses, taking a long swig from the one in his right hand before returning to the table and setting them down.

Not a moment later, Mark and Jaebeom were practically skipping over, looking giddy and beaming brightly.

“Like you need the money,” Jinyoung chastised before Mark raised his hand and he realised his hyung had been gambling for gummy bears and not cash. “Oh, but you definitely need those.”

A friend of the guy Mark had beaten called over to them and Jaebeom was already pulling the eldest out of his seat with a tipsy slur of, “Come on, hyung. You could thrash him with your eyes closed.”

Jinyoung watched them go, downing another few mouthfuls of his beer and frowning slightly at the strange taste. It was bitter, a sharp aftershock poisoning his tongue, but he wrote it off as a sliver of vodka managing to make its way into the drink while the bartender was preparing it.

He drank a little more.

Then a little more, almost unconsciously, as though it was embedded in his reflexes to swallow every drop in that misty glass.

His head was starting to hurt and he set the empty tankard down, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leant forwards over the table, trying to resist the urge to throw up.

“Never know when to stop …” he cursed himself, raising his head in an attempt to locate Mark and Jaebeom. “Oh, Jesus …”

The world was spinning. Colours were fading in and out. Lines were blurred. His fingers were tingling. He tried to stand up but he felt like he was moving through treacle. He could no longer wiggle his toes.

How strong had that drink been?

“Hey, are you okay? You don’t look too good.”

Someone was crouching in front of him. He could see the outline of their figure and the basic facial features, such as a nose and a pair of eyes and a mouth, but everything else was smudged like watercolours.

“I think you’ve had a little too much, buddy.”

The voice sounded strange. Like Jinyoung was underwater and the owner was calling out to him from above the surface. The words were muffled and dampened and Jinyoung tried to reach out to hold onto something but his fingers closed on thin air, too badly coordinated to focus properly.

“Jae …” he slurred, head lolling onto his shoulder. “Jaebeom … don’t … feel good …”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Jaebeom laughed at him. “Come on, let’s get you in a cab.”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Jinyoung knew they’d taken the car. Mark had deliberately not touched a drop of alcohol so that he could drive them back. A taxi seemed like an unnecessary measure.

An arm hooked itself around his waist and then he was being levered out of the booth.

Everything was so heavy. He looked down at the hands that were swinging by his sides and wondered if they even belonged to him. He couldn’t feel them, he couldn’t move them. They were just useless rubber gloves sewn onto the ends of his arms.

And when Jaebeom tried to pull him forwards, his legs wouldn’t take his weight. It was only due to his leader’s strength that he didn’t faceplant straight onto the ground.

“I’ll help you,” came the murmur in his ear as a hand fastened around his wrist and pulled his arm over a pair of shoulders, giving him something to lean on as he was half-dragged, half-carried towards the door. “Nearly there now.”

Jinyoung tried to open his mouth, tried to ask for water or just a bed to lie down in but his lips wouldn’t cooperate. His tongue was just a lump of useless muscle at the bottom of his jaw and he groaned to try and alert Jaebeom of his suffering but all he got was another chuckle in return.

“Just a little bit further.”

He didn’t want to go any further. He wanted to sit down. Lie down. Go to sleep. Jaebeom was usually so good at understanding him, even when he was drunk. So why was he forcing him to do all these things he didn’t want to do?

“Here it is. Mind your head now.”

Jinyoung’s eyes were no longer open but he could hear everything. He heard the sound of a car door and then he was dumped roughly onto vinyl seats, grunting as his arm was squashed uncomfortably beneath him.

The pain in his head was almost unbearable but he couldn’t feel anything else. It was like someone had tightened a tourniquet around his neck, preventing him from having any sensation in anything below his collarbones.

His body was shifted until his head was lying in somebody’s lap and fingers were combing through his hair. They were thick, strong, the nails were tough and cut short. He didn’t know anyone who had fingers like that.

“Yeah … Ramford Motel, please … No, it’s fine … He’s just had too much to drink.”

Jaebeom didn’t sound like that. Jaebeom’s voice wasn’t that low, or feathery. This person sounded like silk. Why was this silky-sounding person stroking his hair in the back of a taxi and telling the driver to take them somewhere he’d never heard of? 

Ramford Motel? He hadn’t stayed in a motel in years.

“That’s right, baby, just let it happen.”

Jinyoung lost consciousness after that. 


	12. The Selfish Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, distorted_knot. I know this is exactly what you asked me not to do but ... I did it anyway :)

“You drugged me,” Jinyoung hissed at the man before him, eyes narrowed to slits and yet still capable of withholding a gallon of hatred. “What did you do, spike my drink?”

“With ketamine,” his attacker nodded, lips twitching in what Jinyoung could only assume was a smirk of pride. “You were so out of it you wouldn’t have known your ass from your elbow. It was too easy, really. And I had no idea you were a famous singer. That was just an added bonus.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Then, by that logic, so is your friend.”

Jinyoung felt the anger build, if that was even possible with how violently he was already seething, and he wished he could have put a fist in this bastard’s face but his feet were frozen to the ground. He couldn’t move, and it was only then that he realised just how terrified he really was.

“Practically begged me to take him.”

He didn’t want to hear this. He would have put his fingers in his ears, turned on his heel and run if he could. He didn’t want to hear how desperate Jaebeom had been to sacrifice himself in order to save the brother who’d been stupid enough to leave his drink unattended at a bar.

“You would have been my first pick, of course, but it’s never nearly as fun when they’re all drugged up. They tend not to scream as loud. What was his name? Jaebeom, you said? Jaebeom was perfectly sober. He knew exactly what I was doing …”

Jinyoung snapped.

***************************

“It’s not real … It’s not real … It’s not real …” 

Jaebeom had been repeating those words on a loop for over ten minutes now. His mindless screaming had stopped, he’d realised there were people touching him and had scrambled over to the wall against which he now sat.

His hands were over his ears and his eyes were closed and if any of them tried to come near him, he would probably punch them in the face. 

“It’s not real … It’s not real … It’s not real …” 

Jackson met Mark’s eye from where they were both kneeling just in front of their leader, knowing they couldn’t touch him but that they couldn’t leave him either. Bambam was closer to him than either of them but still not within reaching distance. 

“It’s not real … It’s not real … It’s not real …” 

“Have you got this?” Jackson whispered over the sound of his friend’s mantra. 

Mark gave a grimace but nodded his affirmation anyway. They all knew there was nothing left that they could do other than wait for the ambulance to arrive. All Jackson could think was thank God Jaebeom had stopped whispering threats to kill himself. 

None of them would ever forgive themselves for any of this.

A few moments ago, they’d heard Youngjae shouting from out in the hallway but now it was worryingly silent and Jackson’s nerves were already shredded to the point of no return.

He told himself he was checking on his dongsaengs but the truth was that he just didn’t want to watch Jaebeom spiral any longer. 

Slipping as quietly as possible through the door, he closed it behind him and immediately caught sight of Youngjae sitting on the bottom step with his head in his hands. There was no sign of Yugyeom or, slightly more worryingly, Jinyoung. 

“Youngjae?” he murmured, drawing the boy’s attention with a tap to his knee. “Where’s Jinyoung?” 

The younger boy’s eyes were red but the only emotion on his face was resignation as he averted his gaze once more and shrugged his shoulders. 

“You don’t know?” That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. “Youngjae, where is he?”

“He left.”

Erm … What?

“Left? As in … Left the house?” 

The muted nod was the only response he received but it was the only one he needed. Why Jinyoung had left or why he’d been allowed to no longer mattered because the most important thing was that they got him back as soon as humanly possible. 

“Call Officer Lee,” Jackson ordered, tearing his phone out of his pocket and flicking through his contacts until he found the number he was looking for, thrusting the device into Youngjae’s hand. “Tell her what happened.” 

He stuffed his feet into his shoes without bothering to tie his laces and bolted straight out of the front door. 

How had everything gone wrong so quickly? He’d been in China, preparing for his solo promotions and then he’d gotten that call and the world ended. He should have been there. He could have stopped this. 

If Jaebeom hadn’t been so adamant about keeping Jinyoung in the dark, they would have handled this entire situation very differently. If Jackson hadn’t been completely excluded from the conversation, he would have put everything out in the open, but it wasn’t his story to tell. 

And if Jaebeom didn’t want Jinyoung to know what had happened that night, he had to respect that even if he didn’t agree with it. 

“Where are you?” he hissed under his breath as he pounded down the pavement without the faintest idea how he was supposed to find somebody who clearly didn’t want to be found. “You can’t be out here … You really can’t …”

That Man was still out here. Jackson hadn’t seen him at the front of the house in a couple of days but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still watching them, waiting for the chance to do whatever it was that he’d come back to do. 

The guy had no fear. The police were looking for him, they knew what he’d done and yet he was going out of his way and willingly risking his freedom to continue his reign of terrorism. Jackson wasn’t sure who his target was, whether it was Jaebeom or Jinyoung, but he didn’t want to wait to find out. 

He should have been here. He could have stopped this. 

Just short of opening his mouth and screaming Jinyoung’s name at the top of his lungs - something which would _not_ go down well in the middle of the road at the crack of dawn - he jogged around the street corner, glanced across at the adjacent park and did a double take. 

They were too far away. He couldn’t be sure, but even if those two people weren’t the ones he was looking for, he would still know that one of them shouldn’t be wrestling the other to the ground.

***********************

Jinyoung held no regard for his own safety or sanity as both of them left him the moment he lunged forwards and grabbed _that man_ by the throat. He tried to throw his whole body into the attack, hoping that his weight would bring them both to the ground.

But this guy had been expecting this. He’d made it happen. He’d provoked him, knowing full well that his target wouldn’t have been able to bite his tongue for long.

His fingers wrapped iron-tight shackles around Jinyoung’s forearms and he pulled backwards, twisting his body in mid-air so that he landed on top of his victim, straddling his chest in the middle of the park and pinning his wrists to the ground either side of his head.

Jinyoung’s anger dissipated to be immediately replaced by terror. He was stuck, too weak to struggle and too scared to even try. All he could do was stare up at that face. The face of his nightmares. The face of Jaebeom’s nightmares, too.

“It’s a lucky thing that you decided to take such an early morning stroll,” came the hiss in his ear, so close that he could feel the hot breath on his neck. It made him want to vomit. “There’s nobody around. We’re all alone.”

“Get off me,” Jinyoung whispered, tears pricking his eyes. “Get the fuck off me … Please …”

“Oh, baby,” his captor cooed, sadistic smile widening on his face as he gazed down at his stunned prey, knowing full well that he could do anything he wanted and it wouldn’t be able to resist. “Why do you think I tracked you down if I was just going to let you go once I’d found you?”

Jinyoung had been so stupid. So selfish. So careless. He’d pushed his family away, told them he hated them, that he never wanted to see them again, and now here he was, needing them more in this moment then he ever had in his entire life.

He thought of Jaebeom. Jaebeom who had thrown himself onto the sword to protect him only for Jinyoung to leap over his broken body and go charging right back into the battle. Jaebeom had suffered for nothing.

The man on top of him pinned him to the tarmac with one giant arm across his chest and used the other to fish something out of his pocket. Something that Jinyoung quickly identified as a syringe.

“No …” he wheezed, struggle renewing at the sight of his attacker popping the cap off the needle. “Don’t you dare … No … You can’t do this …”

He couldn’t allow himself to be drugged again. If that was the same stuff that had been used on him the last time, he would be completely powerless to resist anything this guy tried to do. He would be nothing more than a mannequin, pliant and pliable. 

If the monster wanted to, he could throw him in the back of some van and drive him halfway across the country and there would be nothing he could do to stop it. 

“Please …” he whispered, kicking out and wriggling viciously to no avail. He could already feel the tip of the needle digging into the muscle just above his hip. “Please don’t do this …”

_That’s right, baby. Just let it happen._

Jinyoung closed his eyes. It was better not to fight. He would only cause himself further injury and he knew he wasn’t going to win. He could only pray that whatever was going to happen would be over quickly.

The sharp prick pierced his skin.

“I’ve waited so long …”


	13. The Saviour

There was a very loud stomach-churning crunch followed immediately by a grunt of agony and the weight rolled off of Jinyoung’s body. It felt like someone had just grabbed him by the hair and pulled him from the ocean just seconds before he drowned. 

His eyes flew open and he turned his head to see the wide-eyes and gaping mouth of his assailant lying crumpled and wheezing on the ground beside him. From beneath his head was leaking a thick faucet of blood.

“Shit …” somebody hissed. A familiar somebody.

Jinyoung battled to get his elbows beneath him and scrambled away from the stunned body by digging his naked heels into the gravel, oblivious to the stones that ripped into the tender skin. 

Feeling something hard and metallic shift against him and a jolt of pain ricochet through his hip, he glanced down and almost threw up at the sight of the syringe still sticking out of his body. 

The plunger had barely started its descent. There couldn’t have been more than a milligram of that drug - whatever it was - in his bloodstream but that didn’t mean he was any less desperate to get it as far away from him as possible. 

He wrenched it out and hurled it at the concrete as hard as he could, watching through his blurred vision as it shattered upon impact, the transparent substance seeping into the dirt. 

Only then did Jinyoung look up at his saviour.

Jackson was white as a sheet, arm still raised and eyes bulging as he clutched the bloody rock in a trembling grip. Jinyoung was too dumbfounded to do anything but watch as his friend took a stumbling step backwards and dropped his weapon. 

It made a loud  _ thunk  _ upon contact with the ground and then there was silence, broken only by the stalker’s grunted curses of pain. His eyes were still open and he was breathing but the extent of the bleeding would have been concerning if Jinyoung was at all capable of feeling concern for a man like this.

It had been so close. So, so very close. Another minute or two and … Jinyoung would have died on this pathway, surrounded by daffodils with the birds singing above his head. The most tranquil backdrop to the most horrific scene.

“It’s okay,” Jackson whispered hoarsely, still without moving his eyes from what he’d done. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

Jinyoung had no idea whether he was talking to his friend or himself but it didn’t matter as he stumbled unsteadily to his feet and flung his arms around the older boy’s body.

“Thank you,” he choked, keeping his eyes screwed shut as though the nightmare would reappear as soon as he opened them. “Thank you … Thank you … I’m sorry for what I said … I’m so sorry …”

“Me, too,” Jackson murmured, finally seeming to snap out of his stupor as he tentatively brought his arms up to return the embrace. “I’m sorry, too. No one’s mad at you. Everything’s fine. I promise.”

A shadow crossed Jinyoung’s closed eyelids and he pried them apart to see two police officers hastening across the lawn towards them. If he wasn’t mistaken, they were the same officers that had sat in his living room last week. 

He briefly wondered how they’d gotten here so fast. He briefly wondered how Jackson had known where to find him, or even why he’d come looking in the first place.

They drew apart from their hug to watch as one of the officers knelt down beside the victim of Jackson’s attack, rolling him onto his stomach and cuffing his hands behind his back. 

Now that Jinyoung could see the wound the rock had caused, he realised the injury wasn’t quite as serious as he’d first feared. The guy would live, both fortunately and unfortunately. 

Jinyoung would be lying if he said he didn’t want him dead for what he’d done to Jaebeom but he couldn’t bear the thought of Jackson having to shoulder that deed for the rest of his life.

None of this even felt real. 

“Jackson-ssi?” the second officer called out softly, ignoring the pained grunts from the man her partner was wrestling to his feet. “I need you to tell me what happened.”

Jinyoung felt his heart rate soar with a shot of panic. Jackson couldn’t get in trouble for this. Jackson had saved his life. There was no way he could get arrested for this. It wasn’t fair. They couldn’t do that. They couldn’t take him away when all he’d done was save his friend from a fate worse than death.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jackson murmured, taking Jinyoung by the shoulders and shaking him back to reality. 

He hadn’t realised he’d been talking aloud, his grip on his hyung’s wrist growing tighter and tighter with every apprehensive sentence he spewed. Embarrassed at the tears he suddenly noticed were dribbling down his face, he fell silent and ducked his head in an attempt to hide.

It was getting increasingly difficult to stand.

Vaguely, he heard the police officer reassuring Jackson that she could take him down to the station to make a statement once they’d gotten Jinyoung safe and settled back at home. As if home was a place he could go back to right now.

His knees gave out and he sank to the ground, still barefoot, still shivering, unable to comprehend a single thing that was going on around him as the shock finally started to set in.

They had that monster in custody. He was in handcuffs right now, being bustled into a police car where they would take him away to get his head bandaged and then lock him up. 

He could go home where he would be safe and loved and with his family – who he would need to apologise profusely to but that didn’t matter right now – and only when he was ready would he have to think about taking legal action.

It was over, but at the same time, it wasn’t.

Because of Jaebeom.

“I want to go home,” he rasped out, voice so raw that his vocal cords felt like they were grating against each other. “I want to go home and see Jaebeom.”

“Okay,” Jackson acknowledged, still sounding a little choked as he and the police officer each took one of Jinyoung’s hands and helped him to his feet. “But Jaebeom isn’t at home right now.”

“Where is he?”

“Mark-hyung’s taking him to the hospital.” Jinyoung’s eyes widened like saucers and Jackson immediately jumped to reassure him. “He’s not hurt or anything, but he had to be sedated for his own safety.”

Jinyoung was numb. He let his friend wrap an arm around his waist and lead him back to the police officer’s car where they sat in the back together, bodies pressed right up against each other to provide both warmth and comfort. And Jinyoung was numb.

“How did you know?” he finally whispered as the car turned down onto their street. “That I was there and he was with me … How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Jackson confessed, biting down on the inside of his lip the way he always did when he was stressed out of his mind. “I was just out searching and I … saw you together.”

“Right.”

If Jackson hadn’t … If Jackson didn’t … After everything Jinyoung had said to Mark and Jaebeom and Yugyeom, it was a miracle that his hyung hadn’t just left him to cool down from his stroppy little temper tantrum. And then that guy would have gotten what he’d always wanted.

It was that simple. If Jackson hadn’t.

“Thank you,” he choked out one last time. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me,” his big brother mumbled. “I don’t deserve it.”

Jinyoung didn’t understand what that meant but he was too tired, too stunned, too completely and utterly numb to bother addressing it. 

It was barely two minutes before they pulled up outside the dorm and clambered out.

“I want to see Jaebeom,” he pushed as soon as he clambered out of his seat and felt the cold crunch of gravel beneath his feet. “I need to see him.”

“Later,” Jackson tutted absently. “I promise, Jinyoung. Later.”

He shunted him over the threshold and into Bambam’s arms with a curt yet shaky order of, “All of you stay together. I’ll call,” before he retreated down the driveway and got back into the police car.

“Hyung?”

Jinyoung looked up, too numb to even bother batting away Bambam’s hands as he was steered towards the couch, to see Youngjae barrelling into the room with his face swollen and puffed up from crying. 

“I’m sorry!” he babbled, flinging himself down onto the sofa beside Jinyoung and clutching both his hands. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Jinyoung didn’t have the strength to dismiss his apology or even ask him why he was apologising in the first place. He leant back against the cushions and allowed himself to stare blankly up at the ceiling while Youngjae and Bambam were still filibustering around him. 

He wished he could be with Jaebeom right now so he could hold his hand and tell him he’d been wrong for blaming him and that he was the bravest person he’d ever known for what he’d sacrificed. He also wanted to be with Jackson. And Yugyeom. Wherever Yugyeom even was right now.

The only place he didn’t want to be was right here.

He understood that both he and his leader desperately needed sleep and recuperation at this moment but he couldn’t help the feeling that Mark and Jackson were trying to keep him as far away from Jaebeom as possible.

And if they were, he wouldn’t blame them. 


	14. The Metaphor

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

“No, really … I don’t even know what to say.”

“Me neither.”

“Hyung …”

“Yugyeom,” Jinyoung cut him off in the back of the car, still resolutely staring out the window at the trees passing by as his maknae bounced nervously in the seat beside him. “We both screwed up. We’re both sorry. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Yugyeom lapsed into obedient silence and Jinyoung felt like the weight of the world was sitting on top of him. A thousand apologies – a million apologies – would never even come close to what was needed in order for the others to forgive what he’d done.

How he’d made them worry about him. How he’d demanded that the whole world revolve around him. How he’d tortured Jaebeom, knowing he was suffering but too selfish to find out why. How he’d told them he never wanted to see them again. How he’d failed as a hyung, a dongsaeng and a friend.

There weren’t enough words in the universe to express his guilt, and the fact that Yugyeom felt the need to apologise for saying all those completely justified things only made that guilt blossom and bloom inside Jinyoung’s gut.

And that man’s face. That man’s face was always there. Every time he closed his eyes – even if it was just to blink – and even when his eyes were open. He loitered in the corners of his vision, looming out of the shadows and inserting himself into the crowd as his victim passed by.

Ahn Jongseok. That’s what his name was.

That was the name of the man who had taken this tight-knit group who could hug each other for a full two minutes without feeling so much as a little awkwardness and had torn them into bloodied shreds, stomping over their writhing bodies until they were nothing but scarlet decorations splattered on the pavement.

Ahn Jongseok.

Awaiting trial for abduction and sexual assault.

It had been three days since Jackson had found him pinning Jinyoung to the ground in the park, his lips stretched in a sadistic smirk and his hands wandering to places that hands shouldn’t be wandering anywhere near without explicit consent.

And Jinyoung felt like a shell.

When he thought he’d been raped, he actually hadn’t, and then when he finally knew he hadn’t, he nearly was. The whole situation was so confusing and overwhelming and all he wanted to do was see Jaebeom.

His leader was still on 72-hour watch at the hospital after his little episode in the kitchen where apparently he’d screamed threats of suicide until he passed out, and Jinyoung couldn’t stand the thought of him being there.

Alone. Scared. Traumatised.

Because of him.

He was almost too terrified to push open the hospital room door despite the fact that he’d spent the last three days begging the others to just loosen the reins and let him talk to his best friend. 

They’d thought that both of them were still too fragile and Jinyoung had scoffed at the insinuation.

But now, as he stared at the little black plaque on the door with the white number engraved in the centre, knowing Jaebeom was on the other side but completely unaware of what he would look like, Jinyoung realised that they may have been right.

Except … Here he was and he needed to fix this.

Yugyeom had “gone to get coffee” which Jinyoung knew was just code for “giving my two most damaged hyungs room to talk” so he was all alone as he tentatively knocked on the door and pushed his way in.

It was a relatively large room, white walls and a few flower pictures in a pathetic attempt to spruce it up a bit, and Jaebeom was lying in the only bed, curled up under the blankets and facing the wall. 

There was a chair in the opposite corner in which a woman sat, scribbling something in a file and Jinyoung immediately recognised her uniform.

That woman was there to ensure his best friend didn’t commit suicide.

Upon his entrance, however, she stood up, gathered her things, gave him a small smile and left the room to give him the privacy with Jaebeom that he needed.

“Jae?”

At the sound of his voice, Jaebeom rolled over, bleary eyes protruding from underneath a tangled hairline, and Jinyoung felt like his heart shattered then and there. He looked so miserable and so, so tired.

“Are you good to talk?”

The leader nodded, levering himself into a sitting position and shuffling to the edge of the bed so Jinyoung had space to sit down beside him. For what felt like the longest time, the two of them just stayed like that, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the opposite wall.

“How are you?”

It was a pathetic stab at conversation but Jaebeom seemed thankful for a reason to start exercising his tongue after almost three days of not using it at all.

“I’m good,” he mumbled, still gazing blankly at the surface straight ahead of him. “I want to get out of here but … I’m good.”

Jinyoung nodded sympathetically, unsure whether reaching out to take his friend’s hand was going a step too far when they were both still as fragile as a house of cards.

“You’re due for a psych evaluation this afternoon, right?”

Another dumb nod.

“And then you can come home.”

Jaebeom gave a sad little snort of mirthless amusement, “I don’t even know what home is anymore.”

They lapsed into another stretch of silence, broken only by the irritatingly loud ticking of the clock. It was only then Jinyoung realised that both he and Jaebeom needed to hear the exact same thing in this moment where they both felt like their bodies weren’t their own and their trust had been shredded.

“Jae,” he started, voice trembling ever so slightly as he still refused to turn his head. “You’re like concrete.”

He felt Jaebeom glance at him and could see the confused rise in his eyebrows, but he ignored it. He needed to get this out. He needed to fix what he’d done. He needed to repair the cracks in his hyung’s armour as well as his own.

Maybe he hadn’t been through the torture Jaebeom had, but now he understood the fear and the helplessness and that disgusting feeling of violation as a complete stranger took what never had been and never would be his.

“I mean it,” he pushed on, curling his fingers into his jeans in an attempt to ground himself. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You fit every shape you're thrown into and you adjust and you grow so, so resilient that it would take one of those jackhammer things to even make a dent in you.”

_Maybe I should keep you._

_That’s right, baby, just let it happen._

The voice was reverberating in his ears, repeating the same words that had haunted his nightmares every time his eyelids fluttered closed, but he pushed it aside. He had to. It was the only way to keep going. To keep surviving.

“You know he was arrested, right? The guy who hurt you?”

He felt Jaebeom tensing beside him, shoulders hunching several millimetres and hands clenching into fists as his breath hitched and his eyes screwed shut, blocking out the residual memories and the residual panic and all that other residual stuff.

“His name’s Ahn Jongseok and he’s locked up right now. You never have to face him again if that’s what you decide.”

He didn’t mention the attack in the park. He couldn’t. Jaebeom would only force aside his own pain in his desperation to comfort his dongsaeng and that would do nothing for his recovery. He didn’t need to know.

“But he was like your jackhammer, Jae.”

_That’s right, baby, just let it happen_

He closed his eyes and forced his way through, building the highest possible barricade between him and Jongseok’s voice in his ear.

“He tried to break you and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair in the slightest and it makes me so, so angry, Jae, that you went through that but …” It was getting increasingly difficult to breathe and only then did he realise he was crying. “You did it for me.”

Finally – finally – he looked at Jaebeom and saw the matching set of tears on his hyung’s face.

“I don’t know everything that happened,” he whispered. “And if you’re able to then I would really like to talk about it, but if you can’t tell me, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all because you are fucking concrete, Jae, and even though you were attacked like that, the rest of you is still standing and that makes you even stronger.”

They didn’t hug. That would be a step too far for both of them. They just sat. Sat and cried like a pair of teenage girls at a slumber party. At some point, they forgot that they were in the hospital’s psychiatric ward and that Jaebeom was on suicide watch as the world faded out around them.

The only thing that existed was Jinyoung’s metaphor. It was all they needed.

“Do you really want to know?” Jaebeom finally whispered, after what felt like hours of slightly sniffly silence. “About what happened? Do you really want me to tell you?”

Jinyoung hesitated. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was better off in the dark, hidden away from those awful, awful memories that were buried in the back of his head, clouded by the drugs Jongseok had forced into his system.

But it was his story. Only part of his story but still _his_ story. There was no way that he would let it define the rest of his plot but he just didn’t think that he would be able to leave an entire chapter blank. It would feel like he was deceiving himself into believing that it hadn’t happened when it had and there was no use avoiding it any longer.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “If you’re okay with talking about it then … Yeah. I think I do.”

Jaebeom inhaled, deep and long and shaky as a leaf and a tidal wave of tears slipped through his closed eyelids to tidal wave down his cheeks. For a second, Jinyoung thought he’d gone too far, cut too deep, pushed too hard.

But then Jaebeom opened his mouth and started talking. 


	15. The Abduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just got my exam results and I got into the college that I really wanted to go to so everybody gets an early update!!

“Seriously, hyung, you’ve got to teach me,” Jaebeom snorted, shaking his head in disbelief as he watched Mark shake hands with his latest defeated opponent over the pool table. “How did you get so good?”

Mark just winked at him, waving the bag of gummy bears in his face as the side of his mouth quirked in a smug smirk.

Jaebeom sighed dramatically and then glanced down at his watch, eyes widening ever so slightly at the sight of the hands’ position on the clock face.

“It’s kind of late,” he murmured, reaching out to latch onto Mark’s sleeve and prevent him from engaging in anymore green-tabled battles. “We should head back to the dorms before Youngjae freaks out and manages to convince himself that we’ve been abducted.”

Looking back, Jaebeom realised that Youngjae’s fears hadn’t been completely misplaced.

Mark’s eyes wandered to the clock on the wall and he nodded, swatting at the sweat beneath his hairline with the back of his hand.

And stopped.

“Hey, where did Jinyoung go?”

Jaebeom glanced up from the zipper of his jacket which seemed to have jammed halfway towards his chin and noticed that Jinyoung was, indeed, no longer where they’d left him. 

The two beer bottles were still sitting atop the table, one of them filled and the other barren. His jacket was discarded in the corner of the bench. 

But Jinyoung was gone.

“I don’t know,” Jaebeom hummed, confusion creasing a line in his forehead as he spun on the spot, eyes searching the bar for any sign of his friend.

“I’ll check the bathroom.”

Jaebeom nodded absently, still scouring the room as Mark stalked off towards the toilets. He could have sworn Jinyoung had been there only a second ago. He could also have sworn that Jinyoung was pretty drunk. There was no way he could have moved that quickly.

He finally succeeded in doing up his jacket just as Mark emerged from the bathroom, the first traces of concern starting to dawn on his face, and something ignited inside of Jaebeom. Something worryingly similar to fear. Almost as if his body knew something his mind didn’t.

Yet.

“No?” he asked, barely able to get the word out.

“No,” Mark confirmed. “Knocked on every stall. He wouldn’t leave without telling us, would he?”

“Absolutely not,” Jaebeom forced out through a clenched jaw, teeth biting down on his lip as he tried to contain the growing anxiety. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”

He strode over to the booth he had so recently occupied and grabbed Jinyoung’s jacket, turfing through the contents of the pockets until he pulled out his best friend’s phone.

“There is absolutely no way he’d leave that,” Mark whispered from over his shoulder. “He’s too smart. Even if he was drunk, he knows not to go anywhere without it.”

Panic was only a few seconds away. Getting closer and closer and closer. It would hit any moment now.

“I don’t like this,” Jaebeom repeated under his breath, clutching Jinyoung’s jacket to his chest as he half-stumbled, half-ran towards the bar with Mark right behind him. “I don’t like it … I don’t like it … I don’t like it …”

“Hey,” Mark choked out, pressing his hand against the table and clicking his fingers to grab the bartender’s attention. “The guy that we came with … Uh … he’s um … about this tall, dark hair … I am literally describing every single person in Korea right now.”

His hyung’s breathing was picking up, Jaebeom noticed, as it finally dawned on him that something very, very bad had happened here. And he stepped in even though he felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.

“His name’s Park Jinyoung. He came up here about ten minutes ago to get a refill for two beers. He was wearing a black leather jacket, black jeans, a white T-Shirt, a black ball cap and a mask but now he’s gone and he left his jacket and his phone and we really need to find him. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

The bartender hummed, pointing over to the booth they’d only just left, “Sitting there, right?”

“Yes,” Jaebeom nodded frantically. “Did you see him leave?”

“Yeah,” the guy grunted, furrowing his brow slightly as he tried to remember, absently drying a glass with the damp towel in his hands. “I wondered if he was alright. Seemed pretty drunk. His friend helped him into a taxi and they drove off.”

The panic was here.

“When?” Jaebeom practically screamed, his voice rising at least an octave as he heard Mark choke on his own breath behind him. “What did he look like? Which taxi did they take?”

“Dude, I don’t know,” the bartender defended, raising his hands in protest at the onslaught of questions. “He was wearing a mask, too. I didn’t see his face and it’s not like I memorise the ID number of every single person who walks through that door.”

Jaebeom turned away from the bar, frustration mingling with terror as he met Mark’s eye and saw the exact same expression mirrored right back at him.

“We … we …” he gasped out, unsure whether the tightness in his chest was a panic attack or just an illusion. “We need to call the police. They … Jinyoung … Jinyoung wouldn’t just … He took him. He fucking took him, hyung … Oh my God …”

Mark fumbled with his mobile, fingers shaking too badly to even coordinate the right numbers, but Jaebeom didn’t give him time to make the call. He was already sprinting out through the front door and skidding to a halt in the middle of the road, head whipping from side to side as though there would be a neon sign floating in the air that read,  _ THIS WAY TO YOUR KIDNAPPED FRIEND. _

“Think!” he screamed at himself, fisting his hands in his own hair. “Think! Think!”

People from across the road were staring at him, hurrying away from the crazy drunk guy talking to the voices in his head, but Jaebeom couldn’t have cared less. If his picture was taken and posted on the internet then his career would be over but he would give his job up in a heartbeat if it meant he could pull Jinyoung against his chest right now.

Why would somebody take him? What would they want? Ransom seemed like the obvious answer but the majority of that bar’s population had been guys who’d probably never even heard of Got7 and not a single girl had even glanced their way.

If not ransom then what? He was drunk. But even a drunk Jinyoung was a competent one. He wouldn’t just leave with somebody he didn’t know. He would kick up a fuss. He would fight. He would make as much noise as possible until somebody ran to his aid.

So why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he made a sound?

Unless he’d been drugged.

That would explain everything. Leaving his jacket and his phone, the random guy with the mask who’d taken him, his inability to call for help. That monster – whoever he was – had drugged and abducted Jaebeom’s best friend.

May God save him.

Jaebeom dug his phone from his pocket, panic and fury brewing a toxic concoction in his gut as his breathing reached hyperventilation point. He needed Jinyoung right now. He needed him more than he’d ever needed anything in his entire life.

“Hello, this is the Seoul Taxi Service customer helpline. My name is Seojung and I …”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jaebeom interrupted, wringing his free hand as he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Do you keep track of all your vehicles? Where they come from and where they go to?”

“Uh … Yes, we do,” came the slightly affronted voice from the other end. “May I ask …”

“My friend’s been abducted,” Jaebeom spat out, not even caring how deranged he sounded in his desperation to have Jinyoung by his side. “He was taken from …”

He glared up at the bar sign above his head.

“J.J. Mahoney’s somewhere between 12:30 and 12:45AM. Some guy drugged him and put him in a taxi and I need to know where they went right now.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but …”

“Please!” Jaebeom practically sobbed into the phone. “My best friend was drugged and abducted from a bar! Do I really need to spell it out for you? Whatever privacy protocols you have in place, I am asking you – begging you – to please,  _ please,  _ throw them aside and help me find him before this guy has a chance to do anything.”

There was a slightly stunned silence and Jaebeom felt like screaming. He was running out of time. Every second he spent standing in this road was more distance between him and Jinyoung. More time for whoever had taken him to do whatever it is they were intending to do with him.

“Please hold.”

The line cut out, infuriatingly upbeat music filtering through the speakers and Jaebeom would have hurled the phone into the ground if it hadn’t been his only chance of tracking the taxi down.

“Jaebeom!”

He glanced up to see Mark stumbling out of the bar. He had tears in his eyes and his face was flushed and he probably would have toppled over onto the concrete if Jaebeom hadn’t leapt forwards and grabbed hold of his arm to steady him.

“I called the police,” Mark gasped up at him. “They said they're backed up and they'll send someone when they can but … Jae, they’re not going to be fast enough. They’re not going to find him.”

“Hello, sir?”

Jaebeom was saved the trouble of answering Mark’s hysterical declaration by the operator on the other end of the line silencing the music and offering the information they had available.

“Yes! Yes, I’m here!”

“One of our taxi cabs departed from J.J. Mahoney’s Bar at 12:37AM with the destination of Ramford Motel. Sir, I do sincerely recommend that you contact the police before you …”

Jaebeom hung up, stuffing his phone in his pocket and grabbing Mark by the shoulders, pulling his hyung towards him so that their faces were only a few inches apart.

“Stay here,” he ordered, completely disregarding the age hierarchy. “Call the police back and tell them Jinyoung’s at the Ramford Motel. Then wait here for the officers who are already coming. Promise me you’ll do that, hyung! Promise!”

He gave him a shake, perhaps a little too violently, but it seemed to do the trick and rattled Mark’s brain out of whatever whirlwind was keeping him dumbstruck and silent.

“I promise,” he choked, his fingers reaching out and curling into Jaebeom’s jacket. “But where are you going? You can’t … Jaebeom …”

Jaebeom ignored him. He pried his hyung’s hands from his clothes, turned on his heel and started running, oblivious to Mark’s screams of desperation from behind him.

It was the stupidest decision he ever made.

And yet, if he could have gone back, he wouldn’t have done any different. 


	16. The Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind words xx

Jaebeom knew he probably scared the living daylights out of the receptionist as he came barrelling through the front door, almost knocking the bell from its perch in his desperation to get the answers he needed, but he didn’t really care.

“Sir …” she started, clearly flustered, but he cut her off, harsh and breathless.

“A man came in here about twenty minutes ago and booked a room. Probably only for a few hours.”

That would be all he needed. Jaebeom shivered and pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he continued.

“He was wearing a mask. I need to know which room he was in.”

The woman stared up at him with alarm, probably reaching for that button under the desk that would alert the police. Or was that only in convenience stores? And Jaebeom felt panic rising at the thought that she wasn’t going to help him find Jinyoung.

“He has my friend,” he gasped out, clasping his hands in front of him, almost as though in prayer. “Please, Miss. He has my friend and I think he’s drugged him. Please … Help me …”

She seemed to swallow, her throat bobbing as the globule of saliva slid down into her stomach, and if it would have helped, Jaebeom would have dropped to his knees in a full bow. He would have cut off his right hand. He would have sold his soul.

He would have traded places with Jinyoung.

“Please …”

“Uhh …” she muttered, clearly flustered beyond comprehension as he shuffled from foot to foot, glaring down at her computer as though it was responsible for the sudden interruption of her peace and quiet. “We’ve only had one entry in the last half hour and … erm … It was a man in a mask … Sir, should I call the police for you?”

She was already reaching for the phone but Jaebeom shook his head, his heart lurching at the confirmation that Jinyoung was, indeed, in this building, just a few walls away.

“They’ve already been called. Please, just tell me which room he’s in.”

“Sir, I can’t …”

“PLEASE!”

He felt bad at screaming at her. Of course, he did. She was young, probably only just turned of age, and it wasn’t her fault that the world and its people were as fucked up as they were. But he could apologise later. Once he had Jinyoung.

“42,” she whispered, frozen to the spot and probably thanking the stars that there was a sturdy wooden structure separating her from this intruder. “He’s in room 42.”

“Thank you,” Jaebeom breathed, dropping into a half-hearted bow of gratitude and apology. “Thank you so much.”

He was out the door before she had a chance to take another breath, already circling the building as he scanned each door for that big white number emblazoned across the front. 

He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t scared beyond imagination but adrenaline kept him moving, kept telling him that he was going to be alright as long as he got to Jinyoung in time.

34 … 35 … 36 …

What if he wasn’t fast enough? What if he couldn’t get the door open? What if it was the wrong room and he burst in on some poor, unfortunate soul who was just trying to rest for the night? What if he got there and that man had already done what he’d come here to do?

39 … 40 … 41 …

He skidded to a stop, taking in the door in front of him. His last barricade. The only thing separating him and Jinyoung. He was terrified to eradicate it. Terrified of what he would see on the other side. Terrified of what he had failed to prevent.

Without giving himself a second more to overthink, he stumbled forwards and knocked on the door, short and sharp. The urge to hammer on it with all his might or just ram it open with his shoulder was strong, but there was an overwhelming fear inside of him that this man would just kill Jinyoung as soon as he heard any warning signs of capture.

There was no answer from within and Jaebeom’s voice shook – maybe with fear or maybe with anger, he didn’t know – as he called out to the occupants within.

“Open the door, please, sir! We’ve had some complaints!”

Nothing. And the panic was only increasing with every passing second. Maybe breaking it down would be easier. But then there was a scrabble of the lock from the other side and Jaebeom felt his breath catch in his throat as the door was cracked open just enough to reveal half of a face peering through. 

It was the face of a man. Just an ordinary man. The only eye Jaebeom could see was narrowed in fury and he just stood there, gaping with his mouth open wide, still fearing that he’d gotten the wrong room, until he registered the sliver of bare shoulder he could see in his limited view.

This man didn’t have a shirt on.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the occupant screamed as Jaebeom flung himself at the door, breaking through with a grunt. 

His heart was on his tongue, ready to spring out of his mouth at any moment and flop lifelessly onto the cheap motel rug.

It took him three seconds to register what lay before him and when he did, the only emotion he felt was anger.

Jinyoung was lying on the bed, head lolling to the side, eyes closed, clearly unconscious. His shirt and shoes had already been removed and as Jaebeom stood there, a bubbling cauldron of fury, he realised that his dongsaeng’s belt had also been taken from him.

And just to make the situation a million times worse, a camera was set up on a tripod at the foot of the bed, pointing right at Jinyoung’s semi-naked body.

A hand seized Jaebeom’s shoulder and something was snarled in his ear, something similar to _‘get the fuck out of here’_ but he didn’t register it. He only registered anger. Pure, undiluted anger, and he whipped around, planting his fist right in that bastard’s face.

There was a howl of pain and the guy doubled over, clutching at his nose as speckles of blood dripped onto the carpet, but Jaebeom didn’t care.

He lunged for Jinyoung, climbing up onto the bed beside him and taking his best friend’s face in his hands, giving it as hard a shake as he could while still trying to be gentle.

“Jinyoung? Jinyoung, open your eyes!”

There was a faint groan from deep within Jinyoung’s throat and his eyelids crinkled ever so slightly but, other than that, there was no response and Jaebeom wondered what kind of poison was circling his dongsaeng’s system to have him so incapacitated.

“What did you do to him?” he growled over his shoulder at the man who was still crouched on the ground, cradling his broken nose. “Jinyoung? Jinyoung, can you hear me?”

He turned his head, glaring up at the video camera suspended just a few feet away and felt the sour taste of bile creeping up his throat. It wasn’t bad enough that this man was going to rape Jinyoung while he wasn’t even conscious but he had to film it as well?

“You’re disgusting!” he shrieked, lashing out and knocking the device to the floor where the lens shattered on impact. “Now tell me! What the hell did you give him?”

There was no reply from the gremlin crawling about on the floor, shirtless, jeans unbuttoned, nose bleeding like a faucet, and if Jaebeom wasn’t so concerned for his friend then he would have slammed that repulsive creature into the ground and beaten him until he died a slow, brutal death.

“Jinyoung …” he whispered, returning his attention to the limp body beneath him as he reached for a pulse. “Jinyoung, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

Nothing. Not even a groan this time. And his pulse was slow, thready, dangerously lethargic. Whatever he’d ingested was strong – too strong for his body to absorb. Little by little, it was killing him.

Jaebeom cursed under his breath and slid his arm beneath Jinyoung’s knees, picking them up off the mattress before battling for a grip around his torso. Jinyoung was heavy and the deadened weight wasn’t going to make it any easier but Jaebeom would rather eat his own vomit then leave this boy in this room a second longer.

And then the door closed.

And the lock clicked.

And Jaebeom’s life ended right then and there.

Why hadn’t he waited for the police? Why had he been so arrogant, thinking he could rescue Jinyoung all on his own when the man who had taken him was clearly experienced in the whole drug-and-abduct-a-guy thing? Why hadn’t he beaten the bastard unconscious when he’d had the chance?

“What are you doing?” he whispered, still kneeling protectively at Jinyoung’s side while that guy ensured there was no escape. “The police are coming. You’re just condemning yourself.”

The guy – Jongseok, Jaebeom would later learn his name was – turned around slowly, his face ironed into an expressionless mask as he surveyed the two captives he had in his clutches.

And Jaebeom swallowed the vomit in his mouth, silently cursing his own reckless stupidity, and trying to force his voice into a steady, calm monotone in the hope that it wouldn’t portray just how fucking terrified he was of this man.

“You’re already going under for kidnapping and sexual assault,” he stated, reaching down to grip Jinyoung’s hand even though he knew those lax fingers wouldn’t grip him back. “You might as well start running now because my friend already told them where I am.”

Jongseok was seething, his teeth gritted inside a clenched jaw, and when he pulled the knife out of his bag, his hand was steady as a rock.

“Just let me go,” Jaebeom gasped out, turning around properly so that he was facing the blade head-on, able to keep his eyes on it at all times and shielding Jinyoung as best he could. “Just let me take him and go and this doesn’t have to end in anybody getting hurt.”

Why hadn’t he waited for the police?

Jongseok’s nose was still steadily leaking scarlet but he didn’t seem to notice as he took a step forward, the switchblade in his hand rising to shoulder level and a drop of sweat slipping from his dampened hairline.

“I have an audience waiting,” he crooned, eyes zipping briefly towards the broken camera on the floor before returning to Jaebeom’s face. “And I like to deliver what I promise.”

Terror was the only thing Jaebeom knew. Terror. Terror. Terror. Terror. When only a few seconds prior, all he’d felt was anger. Now there was none of that. There was only terror. Terror for himself. Terror for Jinyoung. Terror for the others that were out there. The others who would be left alone if he died here in this dingy motel room.

“Just let us leave,” he whispered, tears burning the back of his eyes as he frantically tried to blink them away. “Please. I don’t want to press charges. I don’t want to tell anybody. I just want to get my friend to a hospital. I just want to survive.”

“I’ll give you a choice,” Jongseok said, still keeping the knife trained on Jaebeom as he stooped to retrieve the camera from the floor. “You can leave right now and you can do your surviving. I won’t follow you. I won’t hurt you. You won’t ever see me again. But your friend has to stay.”

“No …” Jaebeom forced out, shaking his head as the first tear slid down his cheek. “No … Please … He’s sick. He could be dying. I … I need to get him to a hospital. Just … Please … let me get him to a hospital.”

“You haven’t even heard option two yet.”

Jaebeom wanted to scream. He wanted to burst into tears and curl a protective grip around Jinyoung and sob for his mother. He wanted to leap off this bed and sprint right out the front door, regardless if he felt a blade slashing his skin. He just needed to be out of this room.

But he couldn’t move.

“What’s option two?”

He didn’t need to ask. He already knew both the question and the answer. 

“You can stay. Help me film a little video. I won’t touch him. You have my word. And afterwards, you can go. Just skip off into the sunset together. And that’ll be the end of it. Thirty minutes. That’s all it’ll take.”

“The police are on their way,” Jaebeom repeated, crying a river and quivering like a leaf. “They’ll be here any minute now.”

It wasn't true. They said they were backed up. They weren't coming. 

Another step closer. The distance between that knife and his heart shrinking. Death was breathing down his neck. Death was hovering over him and he had a chance to escape it. He had a choice: die or let Jinyoung die.

Kill or be killed.

Death had done something that death had probably never done before. Death was giving him the option of life even though it knew which choice he was going to make. Which choice it was forcing him to make.

“So what’s it going to be, gorgeous?” 

Death was letting him choose.

“Stay or leave.”

Except it wasn’t death. It was something much, much worse.


	17. The Overdose

The officers told Mark to stay back, to not run head first into the danger zone when they had no idea what was going on inside that mundane motel room. So he hovered beside the police car, gripping fistfuls of his hoodie as he watched the black-vested man rap his knuckles on the door.

He was too far away to hear distinct words, but from the look the two officers shot each other, he knew that there had been no reply and he felt like throwing up.

Twenty-six minutes. That's how long it had taken them to get to the bar, actually listen to what Mark was saying and then finally agree to drive to the motel. 

Twenty-six minutes. 

What if they were gone? What if that man had taken them both and run? What if he’d killed them and left them in there? Why had he let Jaebeom go? Why hadn’t he been the hyung he should have been? Why had they left Jinyoung in that booth?

The first officer stepped aside, making way for the second to break down the door with a battering ram they apparently carried around in the back of the car with them, and when Mark saw them disappear into that tiny little room, he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

He stumbled forwards, useless words of prayer fumbling about on his lips, and when he staggered over the threshold, the first thing he felt was relief. And then it was confusion. And then it was despair. Dark, dark, dark despair.

There were two beds. Jinyoung was on one and Jaebeom was on the other, but the difference in their appearances was so stark that it looked a bit like a “before and after” comparison.

Jinyoung was unconscious. Shirtless, barefoot, and one of the officers was stooped over him, thick fingers digging into his neck as he called for an ambulance into his radio. 

Jaebeom was fully clothed, puffy-eyed, almost catatonic. Curled up on top of the bed covers, staring at the opposite wall like he wasn’t really seeing it.

Mark didn’t know who to go to first.

“Jaebeom?” he whispered, tiptoeing towards his leader with the fear growing in his gut every second that Jaebeom remained unresponsive to anything going on around him. “Jaebeom? It’s Mark-hyung. Are you okay?”

He crouched beside the bed, taking in his dongsaeng’s tear-soaked face and lifeless expression. He had his knees pulled all the way up to his chest and his arms tucked beneath his chin, defending his body from further harm.

“Jaebeom?” Mark tried again, glancing over his shoulder at the officer who was rolling Jinyoung onto his side. “Jaebeom, what happened?”

There was no response – not even the flicker of an eyelid – and Mark knew that something awful had happened. Something unimaginably terrible that had somehow managed to rip this concrete idol of his to nothing more than shredded strips.

A disgusting, guttural choking sound came from behind him and he whipped around to see Jinyoung spewing vomit all over the bed covers, eyes still closed, as his limbs jerked and twitched with horrific violence, and he threw himself across the room to stand at his dongsaeng’s side even if he didn’t have the first idea about what to do.

The police were keeping him as still as possible, their mouths stretched into thin, grim lines. Jinyoung’s hair was drenched with sweat and individual rivulets were gliding repulsively over his skin as his muscles continued to contort and seize.

Even as Mark watched, his arm lashed out and slammed against the bedside table, prompting the officers to each take hold of one of his wrists and pin them to the pillow on either side of his head to ensure he couldn’t do it again.

“What was he given?” one of them barked, throwing the inquisition over his shoulder at where Jaebeom was still curled up on the adjacent bed. “Do you know which drug he was given?”

The response was so soft that, if he hadn’t been looking at Jaebeom’s lips, he wouldn’t have been able to comprehend it.

“Ketamine.”

“Ah, shit,” the second officer cursed, reaching out a hand to cup Jinyoung’s head and stop it smashing against the bed frame. “He’s gonna need his stomach pumped. You’d think that if these bastards were gonna use a date rape drug then they’d at least know how much they were giving.”

Mark’s world ended with that simple sentence.

He’d known already. He’d known since he realised Jinyoung was gone, but only now that the words had been spoken aloud did it properly register with his fogged-up mind.

He looked across the room at Jaebeom. At his glazed eyes and reddened cheeks. At the way he was shrivelled up into such a tiny ball, protecting what was most precious. At the blood on the sheets, just a few scarlet splodges but enough for Mark to join all the dots together and realise what had happened.

The paramedics came bursting through the door a moment later, breaking the eldest out of his stunned stupor of horror as they converged on Jinyoung. 

The seizure had stopped but even from where he was standing, Mark could see that his little brother was barely breathing and he heard the police officer utter the words, “ketamine overdose”.

He felt like shrinking into a hole in the ground and never emerging ever again. The guilt was unbearable. The disgust was paramount. He looked from Jaebeom to Jinyoung and then back again and wondered how the fuck he had managed to fail both of them.

They took Jinyoung away, pressing a bag over his nose and mouth and pumping steadily as they wheeled him out the door, supplying his lungs with the oxygen they weren’t able to procure on their own, and then the police officers turned their attention on Jaebeom.

“Jaebeom, right?” one of them said, harnessing the knowledge Mark had supplied them with before they got here. “Why don’t you come with us, Jaebeom? We can drive you to the hospital and you can get checked over.”

The words that were supposed to bring comfort only succeeded in causing Jaebeom to curl up tighter, squeezing his knees into his abdomen and clutching at the front of his shirt with white-knuckled fists.

He still wasn’t making eye contact with anything but the wall.

“Jaebeom …” Mark breathed, very slowly lowering himself to his knees and blinking back the urge to cry. “I’m here, okay? I’m not going to let anyone do anything that you haven’t consented to. I’ll stay with you for as long as you want but we need to get you to a hospital to make sure you’re …”

He almost used the word ‘okay’ before he bit his own tongue. There was absolutely no way Jaebeom was ‘okay’ and using such a phrase would be an insult to the boy who had just gone to Hell and back because his hyung hadn’t been brave enough to follow him into the flames.

“To make sure you’re not hurt,” he finished instead, breathing a sigh of relief when Jaebeom’s eyes finally moved to his face. 

There was so much pain there. And fear and desperation, and Mark would have cried right there and then if he hadn’t forced himself to be strong. 

“Come on then, Jae. I’ve got you.”

He offered his hand and when Jaebeom took it, he moved as slowly as he possibly could, levering the younger boy into a sitting position and sliding an arm around his waist to help him off the bed.

Once Jaebeom was standing, the true extent of the bleeding was far more obvious but Mark ignored it. He couldn’t look at it. He gripped Jaebeom as hard as he could without hurting him and cautiously steered him towards the door, flanked by the officers on either side.

He was limping, his mouth emitting short, sharp sounds of pain, and Mark kept up a steady string of comforts all the way to the police car where they sat side by side in the back seat, the leader and the mathyung, and drove to the hospital on a blue light.

They took Jaebeom to a room as soon as they shuffled through the doors, the police officers having clearly called ahead to alert the staff that they were coming, and when Mark asked his friend if he wanted him to stay, all he received was a tiny shake of the head.

It hurt. Hurt that he wasn’t wanted. That he couldn’t be there to hold Jaebeom’s hand, but at the same time, he understood. He wouldn’t want any of his members seeing his body after something … like that.

The three maknaes were still at home – Yugyeom, Youngjae and Bambam – probably sleeping by now. They’d wanted to stay in the dorms and play video games while their hyungs went out drinking and all Mark could think was  _ thank fucking God.  _ He knew he should call them, tell them what had happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Not yet.

Instead, he stood in the corner of Jinyoung’s room and watched as they threaded a tube down his throat. It looked painful and uncomfortable but he knew Jinyoung was too sick to know what was going on anyway.

There was a loud sucking sound and Mark turned away as the contents of his dongsaeng’s stomach were vacuumed back up the tube. Somewhere in that sludgy cocktail were the drugs he’d been pumped with.

The date rape drugs.

“We’ll keep a very close eye on him,” the doctor said once the procedure was finally over and Jinyoung’s gut was finally empty and ketamine-free. “It’s a dangerous drug but he’s a strong kid. Without any complications, he should be back on his feet in no time.”

Mark nodded and muttered a ‘thank you’ but he wasn’t really paying attention to anything that wasn’t Jinyoung’s colourless face matching the colourless pillows either side of it. He looked so small.

Jinyoung had probably never looked small in his life.

Mark’s hand trembled as he pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. He glided past Bambam, Youngjae and Yugyeom. It wasn’t time to call them. Not yet. First, he needed someone to lean on, someone to teach him how to breathe again before he even considered telling their youngest three how he had fucked up so spectacularly.

The dial tone droned four times before the call was picked up, a groggy voice filtering through the speakers as its owner probably squinted up at the clock beside their bed, wondering who the hell would be calling them at such an ungodly hour of the morning.

“Hello?”

“Jackson?” Mark sobbed, his floodgates opening with just that one simple word, and he collapsed into the chair beside Jinyoung’s bed, eyes streaming and hand clamped over his mouth.

“Hyung?” Jackson sounded wide awake now. “Hyung, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

Everything. Everything was wrong. The world was wrong. People were wrong. The society they existed in was so wrong that it had probably never even seen the word ‘right’. How was he supposed to describe the night’s events when he knew he’d been the one who had allowed them to occur?

“Something awful’s happened,” he finally forced out. “Something really, really awful. Jackson … You need to come home. Now.”

“I’m on my way.”

And that was Jackson in a nutshell. It didn’t matter that he was an entire ocean away. It didn’t matter that it was almost three in the morning. It didn’t matter that he had a major promotional schedule the very next day. It didn’t matter that Mark hadn’t even given him an explanation.

His hyung had called, his hyung had asked him to come home and so Jackson was coming home. That was all there was to it.

“Keep talking to me, hyung,” he was saying, and Mark could hear him stumbling around his hotel room, trying to get dressed and pack the things he needed for an immediate flight back to Korea. “Take deep breaths and keep talking to me.”

Mark obeyed, his grip tightening both on the phone pressed to his ear and on Jinyoung’s hand resting against the bed covers.

“Can you tell me what’s happened?”

He didn’t know. Could he? Could he really speak those words? Or were they too poisonous to be heard by human ears? Jackson was too … innocent wasn’t really the right word but that’s just what he was. He was too perfect, too happy, to hear about that hideous sliver of society.

“Jinyoung was drugged,” he started, voice trembling almost as badly as the rest of his body. “This guy abducted him from the bar we were drinking at and Jaebeom went to find him and I’m not really sure what happened, Jackson, but I think … I think he was raped.” 

There was silence from the other end of the line for a long, long time. And when Jackson finally spoke, it was just one word. A single syllable. But it summarised everything perfectly.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming to the end now. I hope this story hasn't been nearly as all-over-the-place as I was afraid it was.


	18. The Contract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go after this. Thank you for everything.

As Jaebeom told his story, the missing pieces of Jinyoung’s puzzle slowly started to slot into place. He could still only make out shapes in his memory, blurred and indistinct, but the words echoed in his head with crystal clarity.

Jaebeom’s words. Jongseok’s words. The police and paramedics. Mark.

And by the time his leader petered to a stop, they were both crying an endless stream of misery and trauma, too afraid to touch each other but craving physical contact like they craved oxygen to breathe.

Jinyoung felt like his universe was crumbling, leaving him teetering precariously on a column of concrete as the jackhammers attacked it from below, threatening to send him tumbling into the chasm of nothingness at any moment.

Hearing what had happened – how he’d been drugged to the point of near death, how he’d just lain there and allowed Jaebeom to throw himself into the flames, how, if his leader hadn’t arrived when he did, he would have been unable to prevent the assault that was going to happen – it felt like a dream. A nightmare.

“Why?” he croaked at last, not even bothering to dry the tears from his face as he turned to Jaebeom. “Why would you do that?”

Jaebeom was hunched in on himself, shoulders brought nearly up to his ears and hands fisted in his sweatpants, entire body trembling with the effort of keeping himself stable and sane when his mind was screaming at him to let go and descend into madness. Anything to protect itself from the reality of what it had been through.

But at Jinyoung’s words, he finally raised his head and blinked blankly at the boy sitting on the bed beside him, as though he didn’t understand why such a question was being asked of him when the answer was so blindingly obvious.

“Why would you do that?” Jinyoung repeated, eyes burning and vision swimming as he resisted the urge to scratch his own skin off, desperate to rid himself of those phantom touches on his body. “Why wouldn’t you get the fuck out of there when you had the chance?”

“Don’t get mad at me,” Jaebeom whispered, slowly shaking his head. “Don’t you do that. Please. I did … I did what I had to do.”

Jinyoung’s heart was melting and he threw all caution to the winds as he reached forwards and grabbed both of Jaebeom’s hands in his own, ignoring the way his hyung flinched at the sudden contact.

“I’m not mad at you,” he promised. “But I don’t understand. Why would you let him do that to you?”

There were a few beats where neither of them spoke. They only cried, staring at each other without truly seeing anything but the pain that was hidden behind both sets of eyes. And then Jaebeom finally broke the silence.

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t have done the same thing?”

Jinyoung gaped at him, lips forming incomprehensible shapes as he tried to come up with something – anything – to say in response to such a question. He couldn’t speak. He could only sit. Sit and stare and cry.

“Are you telling me,” Jaebeom continued, voice trembling almost as badly as his hands in Jinyoung’s grip. “That if it was me you found on that bed and he’d drugged me and he’d already started taking my clothes off and he told you that he would let me go if you gave yourself up … Are you telling me that you’d just walk away and leave me there?”

All Jinyoung knew were tears. Tears and pain and misery.

“I know what I want to say,” he choked, dropping his gaze to his lap but still keeping a firm hold on Jaebeom’s fingers. “I want … I want to think that I would do that … to save you … but I don’t think I would, Jae. I don’t think I’d be strong enough. I don’t … I don’t think I’m as brave as you are.”

Whatever response he was expecting, it wasn’t the one he got.

“Good.”

“What?”

“Good,” Jaebeom reinforced, jaw clenching around his gritted teeth. “That’s good, Jinyoung. Because what I did was stupid, okay? It was so, so stupid and if you wouldn’t do the same then that makes you cleverer than I’ll ever be.”

Jinyoung didn’t know what to say to that. Was Jaebeom saying that he regretted what he’d done? That he regretted not leaving Jinyoung in that disgusting motel room with that equally disgusting man? 

Of course, he wished he had. He wished his leader had just run and run and never looked back but hearing those words from Jaebeom’s mouth did something to him.

Made him wonder if maybe Jaebeom blamed him for everything.

“But I would do it again.”

And then those words were a billion times stronger than all the others Jaebeom had uttered in the last hour combined. It was strength itself. Just that simple sentence.

“I would do it again every single time,” Jaebeom pushed, both of them still crying but now for a different reason that neither could identify. “And I know that hiding the truth from you was wrong, Jinyoung. It was selfish and it wasn’t fair, but I truly believed that you were better off not knowing. I didn’t think you’d remember. And I didn’t want you knowing that I wasn’t strong enough to save us both.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Jinyoung was lost for words.

“Concrete,” was all he managed to get out in the end.

“What did you say?”

“Concrete,” Jinyoung repeatedly dumbly. “That’s what I’ve always seen you as. Concrete. You’re our foundation. Even when everything’s tried to break you, you’ve never let it. It never even crossed my mind that you were anything other than strong.”

He didn’t really know what he was saying. He was scared, he was hurting, he was consumed by guilt and confusion and an inability to just process what was going on around him, but all he could do was form words with his sandpapery tongue.

“I don’t like what you did,” he admitted shamefully. “I don’t. I wish you’d left me there and come back later. Once he’d … Once he’d already gone. And I don’t like that you hid it from me. But only because it feels like you didn’t trust me. I don’t understand why you thought your life was worth any less than mine.”

“That’s a leader’s job.”

“No,” Jinyoung snapped, too harshly in his opinion but Jaebeom didn’t flinch. Not this time. “A leader’s job is to lead, Jae. To speak to the company on behalf of us, to initiate the introductions, to accept all the awards and lift our spirits when we’re dead on our feet and still have another three numbers to perform before the concert ends. Never once in your contract does it state that you have to let some monster rip you apart to keep us safe.”

Jaebeom was looking at him with wide eyes, slowly drying out as his body finally ran out of fluid to cry, and he wasn’t smiling exactly but he definitely wasn’t frowning.

“Who says I don’t have my own contract?”

Jinyoung couldn’t argue with that. He, too, had an agreement that he’d signed on the day Got7 was first formed. That stated clear as day that, as a hyung and as a friend, he would throw himself off a cliff to protect his members. That he would never let anybody touch them and even go near them.

Anyone would say that it wasn’t his job. That they were all adults and responsible for their own lives and their own safety. But that wasn’t how things worked. That was neither his nature nor his philosophy.

Who was he to argue with Jaebeom when the exact same instincts were buried in his bones? Even if he didn’t believe he would, some part of him knew that if he were ever in that situation, he would take orders from the handbook Jaebeom had written.

Maybe that made him concrete as well.

“Okay,” he whispered, letting out a long, deep sigh. “Okay. But you have to promise me something.”

Jaebeom nodded slowly. No hesitation, no questions. Just a need to protect and appease, and Jinyoung’s throat was almost completely clogged up just from that expression alone.

“Never give yourself up like that ever again. Okay? Not for me, not for Bambam or Yugyeom or any of us. Promise me, Jaebeom.”

Jaebeom squeezed his hand, but he never replied. 


	19. The Final Choice

Jinyoung hadn’t been aware that there was a video. He didn’t think somebody could be that sick and twisted that they would want to film themselves doing the unspeakable to another human being, but apparently, he just hadn’t met Ahn Jongseok. 

The police recovered the camera and found what would have been the beginning of Jinyoung’s recording if Jaebeom hadn’t broken the door in and smashed the lens. They took the memory card as evidence and then they found something else. 

Jinyoung couldn’t even think about it without wanting to sprint to the bathroom and throw up. He hadn’t believed things could possibly get worse than Jaebeom being assaulted because of him until he was given the extra details. 

Jaebeom hadn’t just been assaulted. He’d been assaulted live on a webcam while people paid to fucking watch. 

Once Jinyoung heard that, he lost all the faith he’d ever had in the human race. 

“This isn’t going to be easy,” his lawyer explained as she, Jinyoung and Mark sat together around the kitchen table. “The evidence speaks for itself but since Jaebeom isn’t willing to testify, it may be difficult to prosecute Jongseok-ssi for his assault.” 

Jinyoung just nodded. He knew what was coming next. 

“That means that we’re relying almost solely on your testimony, Jinyoung. Jaebeom’s provided us with all the proof that he can but you’re the one who needs to carry it home if we want to stand a chance of sending this guy to jail.” 

Jinyoung didn’t blame Jaebeom. Not for a second. That boy was attending therapy sessions every single day, was heavily medicated and already hating himself for not being brave enough to stand up in court and testify without Jinyoung adding to any of that pain. 

Jaebeom was too fragile to attend the trial and even if he weren’t, the defence lawyers would most likely try to use his recent psychiatric episode to render his account moot. 

That meant that it was down to Jinyoung. 

Even after he’d heard the full story, he still couldn’t remember every last detail of that night. He recalled the shadows, the voices, the faces and the feeling of being completely incapacitated and helpless but, beyond that, everything was just foggy. 

That was what was going to make it hard to convince a jury to believe him. 

“Mark’s testimony will go first,” the lawyer – Jian – continued with a nod in Mark’s direction. “You weren’t drinking at all so they won’t be able to use alcohol to attack your credibility.”

Jinyoung cringed internally. He would have been lying if he said he hadn’t berated himself for being so careless with his intake that night. If he hadn’t already been a little tipsy, he would have been more attentive with his drink and then Jongseok never would have been able to spike him. 

“I’ll ask you to recount the events that took place and I’ll need you to be as calm and as clear as you possibly can. Even if you feel yourself getting emotional, stick to the facts. Don’t speculate. State things exactly as they happened.”

Mark bobbed his head in silent understanding. Jinyoung hated to have to put him through this but he knew that they needed his input if they wanted to win this case. 

“Don’t mention Jongseok at all,” Jian said. “At that time, you didn’t know it was him so if you use his name, it will make it look like you’ve twisted your story to match Jinyoung’s. Just talk about how you and Jaebeom realised he was missing, how the bartender told you that he saw somebody taking him away and how Jaebeom left you to go find him.” 

It all felt so surreal. Jinyoung couldn’t believe he was sitting here, preparing to throw his career on the line and bury his name in the mud. If he was the only victim, he wouldn’t have done it, but Jaebeom needed this. For closure. For safety. 

Jaebeom needed this and it was Jinyoung’s turn to sacrifice something for him. 

“Jinyoung,” Jian started in that brisk yet gentle tone that somehow managed to be professional and still reassuring all at the same time. “The same applies to you. Don’t stray away from what you remember. Talk about the headache and the pain and the inability to speak or walk without help. It will support our point that you weren’t able to give lucid consent.” 

Because that was exactly what Jinyoung wanted to do: stand up in front of a bunch of total strangers and give a detailed description of how pathetic and incapable he was to prevent the act that led to the worst experience of his life. 

“The defence lawyer will try to pick apart your stories.” Bastard. How could he sleep at night? “I don’t know what Jongseok is claiming but they may try to make it sound like you consented but were too drunk to remember it. If that happens, do not lose your temper. Stay calm, look at me or at Mark if you need to ground yourself, and answer the questions as truthfully as you can.” 

It sounded terrifying. Mortifying. Humiliating. Jinyoung could almost envision it now: the moment when the lawyer claimed that he’d made this whole thing up for attention or profit and he withered into a pitiful lump of useless flesh that was only capable of blubbering like a baby. 

He wasn’t sure he could do this. 

The trial was going to be a private one with a closed gallery so there was no chance of any reporters or fans trying to sneak in but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t gather outside, sticking microphones in the faces of whoever walked past and demanding answers they didn’t deserve. 

Jinyoung had discussed it with the managers and they’d decided to release a statement saying that he’d been the victim of a physical assault in order to protect his dignity and his privacy but there was still a chance that the truth would get out. 

And if it did, he would be absolutely ruined. His image would be destroyed and he would never recover. He would never perform again. He wouldn’t even be able to step outside without being bombarded with questions and accusations. 

If it weren’t for Jaebeom, he would back out right now. 

“Jinyoung?” Mark asked tentatively, one finger reaching out to tap gently against his forearm. “Where did you go?” 

“Nowhere,” Jinyoung mumbled under his breath as he scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m here. I’m listening. Sorry.” 

“You know that you don’t have to do this, right?” 

Of course, he did. If he didn’t, Jongseok would walk free and neither he nor Jaebeom would ever sleep again. If he didn’t, the both of them would live the rest of their lives in fear, constantly looking over their shoulders and waiting to see a black ballcap in the crowd. 

That man deserved to go down for what he’d done and Jaebeom deserved to have closure after what he’d been through. 

“This is … really scary.” 

That was an understatement. It wasn’t just scary. It was paralysing. If he went ahead with this, he could kiss goodbye to his career but if he stayed silent, he would be betraying the leader who’d sacrificed his own body to save him. 

“Jinyoung,” Jian sighed, putting down her papers and interlocking her fingers in front of her. “I’m not going to pretend to understand what you’re feeling right now but I can assure you that I’ve won numerous cases just like this one.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Jinyoung nodded. “You’re not the problem.” 

He felt so ashamed. Nothing had happened to him. He’d been drugged, had his shirt taken off and then been pinned to the ground in a public park. That was it. Compared to what Jaebeom had … It wasn’t even in the same zip code. 

He had no right to be this cowardly. He needed to pull himself together and do what had to be done to ensure the safety of his family. 

“Jinyoung,” Jian said again. “There is another option here.” 

Ah, yes, the other option. How he wished he could take it. How he wished he could snatch it right up and run away and hide in the back of his closet with a blanket over his head. It was too good to resist and yet resist was what he had to do. 

“If we go to trial,” Jian went on as Jinyoung resisted the urge to block his ears so that he wouldn’t be tempted. “Then we’re almost guaranteed a win. With the videos, yours and Mark’s testimonies, your medical records and the rape kit that Jaebeom underwent, we have enough evidence to convince the jury of his guilt.”

“How long could he get?” Mark pitched in, still with one finger drumming against Jinyoung’s arm in an attempt to help him ground himself. 

“He’s being tried for the attempted drug-facilitated sexual assault of you, Jinyoung, as well as your abduction and the attempted assault in the park. For Jaebeom, it would be rape in the first degree and cybersex trafficking. All of that combined could give him up to fifteen years.” 

Somehow, that didn’t sound like enough. Jinyoung didn’t think anything short of life without the possibility of parole would be enough, but he understood why it wasn’t. Jongseok had never killed anyone. He’d never done anyone any lasting physical damage. 

Emotional damage, absolutely, but that didn’t matter to a court. 

“Or we could offer him a deal. If he pleads guilty and admits to his crimes, he could get up to seven years. It’s not the full sentence but it would mean that you wouldn’t have to go through the trauma of testifying in court.” 

If it weren’t for Jaebeom, Jinyoung would take the deal. If it weren’t for Jaebeom, Jinyoung would say yes right now and save himself the psychological torture that would await him if he took this through to trial. 

Jongseok deserved to be locked up for as long as possible. Jaebeom deserved to be safe for as long as possible. The fact that Jinyoung was a whimpering coward shouldn’t have to stand in the way of that. 

“I’ll think we’ll call it a day,” Jian concluded as she began packing up her files. “Think about it, Jinyoung-ssi. You have to do what’s best for you and your wellbeing.” 

Mark got up to show her to the door but Jinyoung couldn’t move. He was fused to his seat, staring blankly at the table top in front of him and lost inside his own head. 

The selfish part of him wanted to run away. If he took the deal, he wouldn’t have to put his whole life on the line but then Jongseok wouldn’t get the maximum sentence. If he went to trial, he would be dashing his career to smithereens but Jaebeom would get the justice he needed. 

Unable to think about it much longer, he pushed out of his chair and padded up the stairs before Mark could return and ask him how he was feeling or if he wanted to call his therapist and talk about things. 

********************

“Can’t sleep?” 

He looked up sharply, goosebumps rising on every spare inch of skin and heart thudding against the inside of his ribcage until he recognised the owner of the unscheduled appearance as none other than his leader. 

“No,” he shook his head, returning his attention to the city that was spread out before him. “I can’t.” 

The balcony had become his safe spot. From up here, he could watch the world without the world being able to watch him back. Nobody was scrutinising him, nobody expected anything of him, nobody could hear what he said or see what he did. 

He was free from his lifestyle so long as he was standing on these few square feet of wood. He wasn’t an idol who had to conform to what society demanded of him. He was just a human being enjoying the view. 

“Me neither,” Jaebeom added as he stepped up beside his friend and rested his arms against the railing. “What are you thinking about?” 

“The trial,” Jinyoung said before he could stop himself. As soon as the words left his mouth, he flinched and internally kicked his own butt for being so stupidly insensitive. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s not important.” 

“Apparently it is,” Jaebeom countered in the flat emotionless tone he’d adopted these days. “If it’s bothering you, I want to know.” 

Why did he have to be so goddamn noble? There was a reason why he wasn’t being included in the court case: his psychological state couldn’t handle it. And yet here he was, willingly bringing it up because he thought that discussing it would help Jinyoung. 

He was too good for this world. Too good for anything. His goodness was the thing that had almost got him killed. 

“Jae …”

“If it’s bothering you,” Jaebeom repeated, pointedly, slowly. “I want to know.” 

Jinyoung had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at his leader’s insufferable selflessness. He knew he shouldn’t be risking Jaebeom’s emotional stability but he also knew that there was no use avoiding it now that the boy had his claws in. 

“I’m frightened of testifying,” he admitted at last, unable to raise his head and meet Jaebeom’s eye when he was too ashamed of himself to even look in the mirror. “And of the public finding out what happened. I’m frightened of the whole damn situation and I know I don’t have the right to be when you …”

“Stop.” 

He clamped his mouth shut at once. He could practically feel the disappointment ebbing off Jaebeom’s body in waves. 

“You have the right to feel whatever you want to feel,” the leader stated, surprisingly calm for somebody who was so broken inside. “If you’re frightened, you have the right to be frightened. And if you don’t want to do this, you have the right to back out.” 

Jinyoung blanched, “No, I don’t.” 

“How do you figure that? Is somebody holding a gun to your head? Is somebody forcing you to take that stand and talk about what happened to you? Because if they are, point me to them and I’ll take them out.” 

Jinyoung knew he was joking but he couldn’t stop himself from wincing at the insinuation. He didn’t want Jaebeom coming to his aid again. He never wanted Jaebeom to ever put himself in harm’s way because of him again. 

“If we get Jongseok to admit to everything,” he ground out through gritted teeth, fingernails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists tightly enough to cut off circulation. “He gets a reduced sentence but I don’t have to testify.”

“And is that what you want?” 

Yes, was the truthful answer, but he couldn’t say that. 

“Don’t think about me,” the leader interjected, as if he could read his friend’s mind. “Take me off the table. I don’t matter right now.” 

Bullshit. Jinyoung had to resist the urge to say that he always mattered and would always matter, regardless of the circumstances. 

“Is that what you want?” 

Jinyoung took a deep breath, closed his eyes and condemned himself to hell the moment he allowed his lips to shape the word, “Yes.” 

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” 

How could he be so logical about this? His medication must really be doing its job to perfection if he was capable of holding this conversation without crumbling into a hyperventilating puddle of tears. 

“I can’t do that,” Jinyoung insisted, frustration at himself starting to bleed through into his tone. “I have to send him to jail for as long as possible. If I do this, he could get fifteen years but if I don’t, he’ll only get about seven.” 

“Seven’s still a long time.” 

“It’s not long enough.” 

“For what?”

“For you to be safe.” 

“This is still about me?” 

“How could it not be about you?” Jinyoung sighed, finally relenting to look up at the person he was speaking to. “This whole thing is my fault but you’re the one who got hurt. It’s not fair. You could’ve died. He could’ve taken you with him when he left. You risked your life for me so what kind of person am I if I can’t even stand up in front of a couple of people for you?” 

Jaebeom’s jaw was set but the rest of his face was unreadable. He was just staring at Jinyoung, as though trying to figure out what was going on beneath the layers of skin and skull. 

“You think this is what I want?” he whispered at last. “You think I want you to feel like you owe me some kind of debt? You think I want you to tear yourself apart trying to pay me back for something that was just instinctive for me?” 

He didn’t look angry but Jinyoung could feel the weight of his words and he just felt even more ashamed. Jaebeom had done what he’d done to protect him from harm and preserve his mental state and now he was twisting himself into knots trying to feel sorry for himself. 

“If this trial is going to hurt you,” Jaebeom continued. “Then I don’t want you to do it. I shouldn’t need to tell you that. If seven years is enough for you then it’s enough for me. I’d rather he not go to jail at all than let you do something that scares you this badly.”

What had he ever done to deserve Im Jaebeom? He couldn’t even begin to fathom where he would be right now without him. What he’d done and what he continued to do went beyond the obligations of a leader. 

“So I’ll ask you again: Do you want to take that deal?” 

Jinyoung bit his lip, “Would you hate me if I said ‘yes’?” 

“Do I look like I would hate you if you said ‘yes’?” 

He puffed out a long breath. He seemed to always be holding his breath nowadays. 

“Then yes, I want to take the deal. I don’t want to put myself through this and I don’t want to risk the truth getting out.” 

“Okay,” Jaebeom nodded, the two of them going back to staring out over the railing. “Then we’ll call Jian-ssi in the morning and let her know.” 

Jinyoung had no idea how long they stayed out there, watching the world go by in complete silence. The only thing he knew was that the moments he spent there with Jaebeom beside him and the cool night air on his face were the first in which he felt truly safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am well aware that this isn't the satisfying ending that you guys deserve for sticking with this story but, as I said in the first chapter, I wrote this fic before I was ready to and as a result I wasn't able to finish it properly. The original ending was the last chapter with JB and JY in the hospital but I added this one just to do the story a little more justice. 
> 
> If anyone wants to write their own ending or whatever then please feel free. Thank you for being so patient with me. This series will be on a short break so MinYun and I can post our next collaboration.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos really help with my motivation and confidence so, if you have a spare minute, let me know what you think! Have a great day and please stay safe :)


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